The Color of the Cure
by AuzeriGirl
Summary: Death took many forms. It took the form of men with guns. It came in the form of roars that shook the earth. It took the form of The Doctor, killing men with a touch. It came in the form of a man made of shadows, walking through walls and leaving murky footprints. All Clara could do was wander hell, wondering which death would be hers. Completed. Over 10,000 views! THANK YOU!
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

The bite of the cold wind sent Clara's hands to her pockets. She buried her face close to her chest, shielding her nose and mouth from the chill. It was far too cold for her liking. She was already missing her warm Florida evening walks where she would kick off her sandals, feeling the earth and sand between her toes and listening to the always consistent sound of waves breaking against the shore. Tourists tended to die down after the sun had started to dip below the horizon, and she liked to walk along the beach, studying the leftover remnants of their presence there: bottles, empty cans, plastic bags and candy wrappers, sometimes even a deflated beach ball or shovel. She'd pick them up and toss them in the trash can, knowing full well that the next morning would bring in a new helping of tourists and suburban families, eager and unaware of the evidence they left behind.

This was not Florida. This wasn't even the United States anymore. This was hell frozen over, Antarctica style. It was secluded, she'd give them that. Cinderblock and cement walls stretched as tall as trees in front of her, armored vehicles patrolling like guard dogs behind her. Men in masks and goggles watched her like vultures, looking for some signal to begin a storm of bullets. The trip here had been a long one, but suddenly didn't seem long enough. Clara swallowed, feeling a heat burning in her stomach despite the below-freezing temperatures.

"Keep moving please," her escort said. His polite tone was flat and calm, different from the barked-out orders she expected to hear after so many sci-fi movies. She wished this was just another sci-fi movie, like E.T. or hell, even those labs from Stranger Things, and they were pretty messed up. Probably be better than the fortress solemnly gazing at her now.

Clara followed after him, her boots crunching through the snowed-over path that she imagined was never fully cleared. Her escort, who never revealed his name (though Clara had not asked), walked her through several layers of gates and passages up to the front entrance, a heavy looking door big enough to fit three of those armored cars all stacked on top of each other. He keyed in a code and muttered something into a walky-talky while Clara stood idly behind him, her breath pluming in front of her like tiny clouds. Several beeps later, the door rumbled open, revealing more ambiguous guards inside. They didn't bother trying to hide their weapons, nor hiding their eyes as they looked her over. She didn't blame them. She didn't think she belonged here either, but it was far too late to back out now.

She was led further into the building, the gate grinding to a close behind her with a groan. Air-tight. Sealed-shut. Nothing getting in, but especially nothing getting out.

Clara felt words bubble up in her throat, anxious to escape and try to break the heavy air of imprisonment, but any thoughts she had of speaking died when met the stale atmosphere of the soldiers around her. Her eyes wandered from door to door, her escort weaving her through maze-like hallways that she was only partially prepared for. "Meant to keep things lost," her escort had explained back in the car. "Just in case anything gets out of its cell." There was something else about being able to add in a lot more expansions this way, or keeping things moving and progressing with the more they found, she couldn't remember. It was just as confusing as the halls she walked in.

Each hallway scared her, each doorway, though its contents hidden, filled her with terror. What horrible thinks lurked on the other side? Did they seek to kill her? Eat her? Something worse?

She shuddered.

No matter of memorization could really hold in her mind; the second she thought she could retrace her steps, they turned a new corner and she felt lost all over again. It seemed that her escorts served more than one purpose. Clara remained silent throughout their trek. Words felt false and childish and died in her throat before she could even strain out a sound.

Finally, the guard scanned his card and the door to an office slid open. He nodded to Clara and stood at attention. Clara took a deep breath and stepped inside. The room was, surprisingly, warm and inviting. A mahogany desk sat alongside floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There were no windows, but a large painting of a mountain-scape was framed and hanging behind the desk, providing only a temporary illusion of space and freedom.

To say that it wasn't what she was expecting was an understatement. She was expecting a prison office with bars and guns along every wall. Maybe even monitors lined up along the walls, revealing all manner of monstrosities within the screens. Almost instantly, Clara felt her shoulders start to relax.

The man seated at the desk was flipping through papers, one of which had her picture on it. He wore a tight black shirt, looking more military than doctor or researcher. His dark brown hair was buzzed short along his head. Dark brown eyes scanned papers up and down without pause, and his lips were blank, neither a frown nor a smile to be seen among his features. She couldn't quite pick out how old he was, but she didn't doubt his authority for a moment. To an onlooker, she imagined she must have looked even more out of place in his office. Her auburn hair was pulled into a quick and hasty bun atop her head, a few strands falling out and landing haphazardly at her shoulders. Freckles speckled across her nose and beneath her pale eyes, a mixture of blue and gray. She was small, perhaps only five feet give or take a few inches, but she appeared smaller swallowed up by the heavy winter coat she wore.

He didn't even glance up at the opening door, or Clara's figure waiting for him to finish. Clara fidgeted slightly with her tundra jacket and tried clearing her throat, only for it to catch and end in a rather loud cough.

The man looked up and nodded. "Ah yes, my apologizes. Please have a seat, Ms. Elione. Is that French, Greek? Or would you prefer Clara?"

It's Greek, Clara wanted to say, but instead she just nodded.

"Ms. Elione is fine," she said, sitting down in a rubber chair that squeaked from the pressure. It was stiff, hardly taking her form at all, cracking like new leather often does. Clara wasn't surprised that the chairs felt unused. Even the man's own chair looked uncomfortable, and he shifted occasionally. Sometimes crossing or uncrossing his legs, sometimes straightening, always moving in a way that showed was never quite comfortable sitting down at all.

"Yes, Ms. Elione. I'm Lieutenant Hollaway. Your escort already told you the basics, yes? Your reason for being summoned here?" he asked, closing her file with the flip of his wrist.

"Yes sir. I was transferred here from Florida's Research Division on the coast after demonstrating incredible skills in terms of computer science and technology and-"

"You're here because you found something you shouldn't have," he interrupted. Clara swallowed, her eyes lowering.

"Yes sir."

"One of our associates, Doctor Ivar, was visiting your facility for research and you 'just so happened' to stumble upon some of his research notes that he left out on his desk. You shouldn't have even been in his office."

"He had my flash drive-" Clara looked back up and snapped her mouth shut. Dr. Hollaway's eyes were narrowed and cold. His hands were crossed in front of him, his chin pressing into them as he leaned forward to stare at her, unblinking. Clara's hands tightened into fists.

"Are you finished making excuses?"

"Yes sir."

"Let me make something very clear to you, Clara. You are not here because you're a good scientist. You're alive because you are. Dr. Ivar breeched our confidentiality and you are the result. He has been killed. We killed him for his mistake. Do you understand? We could have just erased your memory, but that causes too much of a fuss. You're not here as a guest, you're here as his replacement for sticking your nose somewhere it shouldn't have been, accident or not. If you prove to be even a sliver less than his merit or worth, you will be killed. And you will not make the same mistake he did. Am I clear, Clara?"

"Yes sir," Clara said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Good. You're here to save me time and effort. You're here to avoid any more casualties, but I couldn't really give a damn if you end up getting killed in here, except that you'd probably make a mess for one of my boys to clean up. So, stick to your escorts. Go where you're supposed to. And for your sake, I hope you've squashed whatever lingering curiosity you may have inside of you. Death is the least of your worries here."

Dr. Hollaway sat back in his chair with a sigh, moving his hands to his lap. "You start tomorrow. Your escort will take you to your room. You're Class C personnel, so you'll get a bed and three meals. There is no room for mistakes here. For your sake, I hope this is the last time I see you here. Now get out."

Clara didn't remember getting out of her chair, or scrambling to the door. She didn't bother trying to memorize the hallways, and her brain no longer graced her with memories of warm sand and easy waves. As she was walked to her room, she bit her lip to keep from crying, and prayed that if there really was a god in this hellish place, he'd have a little mercy on her.

Dr. Hollaway watched her leave, and flipped her file back open for a moment. He stared at the picture there and frowned, pulling out a separate file from his desk. It was packed to the brim with papers and notes, bulging at the seams with all it contained. Dr. Hollaway flipped it open, adding Clara's file to the front. So much information, and he had already poured over it all. He'd read over every letter, every note. This was a risk. Every part of this was a risk he didn't want to take. But they'd already come too far to back up now. No, that would be foolish. How much money had they already poured into this? How long had they been asking those higher ups for a chance like this? And for such an opportunity to literally walk through their front door…

"Ivar, you better be right about this," he muttered. He closed the filed and placed it back into the safe it came from, cranking it shut. He cracked his knuckles, a nervous tick, and sat back in his chair once more.

* * *

"SCP-049, please step forward. You are being relocated to a more secure cell," a guard said over the intercom, his fat finger releasing the speaker button a moment later and watching the SCP with trepidation. He didn't bother hiding his disgust and unease, but then again, few did. Perhaps it was the fact that out of many of the creatures kept here in this place, SCP-049 looked more human than the others. In form, at least. His bird-like mask unsettled many of the visitors who came to observe his work. At least he wasn't a giant lizard.

SCP-049 stepped forward as instructed, resisting the urge to claw at the brace around his neck and wrists. Can't have him moving, he supposed, though he wished they'd get rid of the iron collar. He was not a dog. He had been nothing but accommodating, hadn't he? He really preferred that they wouldn't sedate him every time they had to transport him, so that they could put this ridiculous collar on. He hated to have his mind altered or foggy. It was just unsettling, and after they accused him of such horrid things too the first time they didn't sedate him. He had just done his duty as a doctor, after all. That man he cured would have been grateful, could he still speak. They were all doctors here, he still wasn't sure why they were treating him this way. He supposed he couldn't complain too much though, they had been generous with their specimens he had received. So much to learn, so much more still to learn.

They moved him without a word, quite a large set of guards escorting him too, he was almost honored. Two in front of him, one on each side holding the neck brace bars, and a lone gunman in the back, tranquilizers at the ready. Each step in a pattern, in a line, carefully controlled. He wished he could consider his outing a breath of fresh air, but these stale and clean walls were hardly inviting. He didn't mind the occasional change of scenery, however.

They pushed him along, the guards at his side holding his neck brace out at arms' length, steering him like cattle, how offensive. They moved him through path after path, leading him away from the familiarity of his cell and toward the solemn unity of the next one. They were all practically the same.

"Hold!" the guard up front commanded, screeching to a halt. "Let these people pass by, move SCP-049 to the right."

They shuffled him along, practically blocking his view. A small group, a few scientists, an escort, passing through to do their jobs. Usually they scheduled his movings during a time when no one would be passing through. It was not like them to break routine. He craned to look over their shoulders. More infected? More pitiful souls he needed to cure?

A woman. Practically a girl, following behind a guard. Her eyes were swollen and red. She had been crying? She kept her gaze to the ground, moving quickly as instructed by her ever-dutiful escort. But, for just a brief moment, curiosity got the better of the girl, and she looked up. Her eyes widened in fear, face twisting into uncertainty. Or was it fascination? He blinked at her, this girl, this creature clearly not meant for these walls. Was she like him? Or…was she just another infected? No. No, she was, she was clean. She was not infected. But there was something odd about her, something about the Pestilence that he couldn't quite discern, like looking though murky water, like fog, like an itch buried deep within his brain, impossible to scratch, like-

"SCP-049, DO NOT MOVE!" the guard barked, catching him as he leaned forward toward her. She paused, taking a step backwards and closer to her guard, who had his eyes locked onto SCP-049. With a final shaky breath, the woman scampered after her escort, turning the corner and disappearing around the hall. His eyes followed her until she was out of sight, and lingered a moment longer.

"SCP-049, you are to keep moving forward," the guard demanded. With one last pause, he complied.

Could it be possible? Could a simple woman really not just be cured, but immune, to the Great Pestilence? By the time SCP-049 had even started to begin to gather his thoughts, he was in his new cell. The door sealed shut behind him, and his neck brace and arm locks were pulled from him.

The Pestilence had ways of surprising him, even after everything he had learned thus far. He had been doing this for years, eons, lifetimes, so the only thing he wasn't surprised by anymore were surprises. But she was something else entirely.

There it was again. That _thing_ he couldn't quite put into words, on the tip of his tongue, something so fleeting and out of his reach. He felt this often, a whirl of thoughts or a confusing cloud over his mind. He knew, he just _knew_ that if he could grasp whatever it was that always slipped away from him, he would finally have the cure. He could finally cure these poor souls who wandered around like infected sheep, like cattle. But he was their shepherd, and just as a shepherd is to protect his sheep, he would protect these people. This was always his purpose, and he existed for no other reason. He was getting close to a solution, he knew he was, and this girl, this oddity, may just be his key.

He strode across the room, pulling out his notebook from his cloak and flipping to a new page. Yellowed pages lined the journal, filled with a language no man could understand, though they inability to grasp its meaning was something SCP-049 couldn't understand either. To him, it was like plain English, but to any others, it was jargin, nonsense, an unbreakable code that might as well have crafted solely by the owner of the journal. For all they knew, it was. But SCP-049 didn't seem to mind this, as he poured over previous notes and writings, flipping finally to a new page and getting out his pen.

Excitement, the thrill of being so close to a new discovery, gripped at his chest. Every step forward he made was progress, and progress was the greatest task a man could pursue. Discoveries of the unknown, and that girl was most certainly an unknown. This required a more thorough bit of research, without a doubt. He just couldn't wait to get his hands on her.


	2. Chapter 2: The Price of Life

"Here's your quarters," her guard said, motioning her inside and following after. "You got your own room and bathroom. Normally they'd consider bunking you up, but there aren't too many girls in a place like this." Clara looked around the plain room, trying not to compare it to her nice room back home. Her room back in the warm beaches of Florida was wonderful. Studio bedroom with windows that looked out onto the city. It didn't look out onto the waves, but that got her a discount she couldn't argue with. Her small kitchenette and bathroom were just that: small, but they made it feel like her tiny slice of life was homey and complete, and she rarely found herself lonely while she was home. She didn't have any pets, mainly because she worked so much and didn't want to leave them home alone all day, but now she was thinking that was probably for the best. She highly doubted she could take along a pet with her to a place like this.

This new room was barely a room at all. Solid white walls and floors made her feel like she was in a hospital room. There weren't any windows, no ocean or city view to be had anymore. She understood all the more why Dr. Hollaway had lots of decorations and a painting in his office, it at least had personality. Even if his personality was terrifying.

Clara sighed. "Thank you for showing me here. Which of my belongings did they confiscate with the move?"

"Your phone, for obvious reasons, laptop, pretty much any technology, though we have most of your documents and software transferred over electronically. You'll be allowed to use a computer we provide, but it won't have external access. You'll get that in a few weeks probably."

"So, I can't email anyone?" Clara asked.

"Yeah. You're only a Class C. Sorry," he grumbled. "But they left some of your books and stuff on the bed, ones that they allowed. Everything has to be checked, y'know. You've got clean sheets and stuff, and if there's anything else you need, you can put in a request or have one of us get it for you. I'll be the one escorting you to and from your work stations, mess hall, all that stuff."

Clara swallowed and looked out at her items, once so carefully placed in her tiny apartment now crammed into random corners or thrown about on her bed. There wasn't much they let her keep: a few books, like the guard had said, clothes, toiletries, a few pictures, random notebooks and folders. Necessities. Gone were her TV and Bluetooth speaker. Gone were paintings gifted from friends, framed letters from her grandmother in Greece, carefully stacked and organized colored pencils and sketchbook paper, and her vintage record player. They let her keep her collection of old Patsy Cline records though. She almost wanted to laugh, but the sound that came up instead was something between a gurgle and a sob.

Everything left in the room was just a reminder of her isolation, taunting remnants of a life she wasn't sure she would ever get back. Things that once brought her comfort left her with a sense of longing, a desire for freedom beyond concrete walls. How long would she have to wait before she saw sunlight again?

"It'll get easier, after a while," her escort said. Clara turned around. He took off his visor and pulled down the mask. His eyes were soft, and his mouth was turned into a frown, and his blonde hair and baby-blue eyes made him look much younger than she would have expected. "I'll be the one taking you most places. You'll have new guards every now and then, but it'll usually be me. I'm Jack." His voice wasn't quite as gruff when it wasn't covered by his safety-mask.

"Clara," she answered back.

His mouth twisted up slightly. "Yeah, I knew that." He put his mask back on and headed toward her door. "Let me know if you need anything, Clara. I'll be outside." And with that, he left.

Clara sat down on her bed among the remains of her belongings. Some part of her whispered that she should probably start unpacking, but that only caused Clara's bottom lip to quiver. Unpacking made it official. It meant she was planning on staying here for a while, no longer a vacation, no longer a trip, no longer just a bad dream or hazy nightmare she could wake up from. When she unpacked, she lived here.

Instead, Clara looked over the file that had been placed on her bed detailing her current assignment. Even though Dr. Ivar was a Class A personnel and worked very extensively in this facility, Clara had not been given the same jobs. Not yet, anyway. She briefly wondered if she'd ever reach that same point, if she even wanted to. She flipped through the file and looked over the basic list of rules. Don't go anywhere without an escort, don't go places she shouldn't be, always close doors behind her, always report any unusual findings to a supervisor. Do this, don't do this. Easy enough to remember, all she had to do was what she was told. She flipped to the next page where her superior's details were listed.

Dr. Raymond Hamm. Specializes in Cryptobiology, AKA, the study of monsters. Normally she would have laughed at such a title. She had never been afraid of ghosts or monsters as a child, always laughing at the scary movie villains and poking fun at pictures people had claimed to make of Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. She generally seemed to enjoy the macabre, horror movies included, because she could sleep well at night proving the impossibility of such things.

Most of her supervisor's information had been redacted, only leaving information she absolutely needed to know. Apparently, Dr. Hamm focused primarily on a certain SCP in particular. Clara was still trying to wrap her head around what exactly an SCP was. Her mind drifted back to when she had stumbled upon Dr. Ivar's papers. She'd entered his office to grab her flashdrive back from him, after he'd requested copies of a few of her PDFs on autoimmune diseases and pathologies, her area of study. She'd needed it back to work on her upcoming seminar paper, and when his office was unlocked, she let herself in. It wasn't her fault that he hadn't locked the door to go to the bathroom. It wasn't her fault that he left a folder out about SCP-682.

It was her fault that she didn't just ignore what she had seen. It was her fault that she didn't just play it off as some science-fiction nonsense. Instead, she had looked over his folder, idle curiosity turned into abhorrent shock and denial. After she'd left his office, she still tried to play off what she had seen as perhaps a poorly written plot idea for a bad movie. A giant indestructible lizard capable of regeneration and advanced mutation? B-movie fiction. The pictures said otherwise. The hastily drawn notes about containing and destroying the creature as soon as possible said otherwise.

Honestly, she still thought it was nonsense until she walked into her apartment to find six armed men at her door.

And then today, when she saw that…thing. Guards marching it across the room, like they were leading it to the gallows. Hands locked in iron braces, a collar around its neck, and a mask with a long beak protruding from the front, like something straight out of mid-century France. It was just human enough that she almost felt sorry for it. And then it looked at her. Bright green eyes, like luminescent moss or algae, staring right at her, looking through her with equal parts disinterest and fascination, like she was the thing being kept prisoner here. It had stopped, it had paused, it had turned to look at her. Her heart had felt like it had stopped and ice was running through her veins, like she suddenly couldn't breathe, like she couldn't force herself to move or think. She felt like a mouse, staring into the eyes of a hawk grasping her in its talons, just waiting to decide whether or not it wanted to kill her or torment her a little longer. All from a look.

Clara shook her head and took a deep breath in. If there was any doubt that what she had seen in Dr. Ivar's folder was simple fantasy, it was gone. She closed the folder and rubbed her eyes before looking out over the mess of her new room. Clara ran a hand through her auburn hair and began to unpack.

* * *

Getting out of bed was easier than she thought it would be this morning. She thought she'd linger in the safety of her pillows and comforter, but in truth, she found herself eager to leave the quiet room and give herself something to do. She'd been given a standard lab coat and gloves to wear, things that she'd seen other personnel wearing when she walked around. Standard protocol, she assumed. Clara put it on and turned to look at herself in the mirror.

Her brown, auburn hair was pulled up into a pony-tail. She tried to pull it up into a bun, but too many loose strands kept falling free into her face, bouncing into wavy half-curls at her shoulders. She would have straightened her hair if they hadn't confiscated her hair straightener. Jerks. She supposed she may have been considered good-looking once, but it would always have been followed by an "if." "She'd be good-looking if she didn't have such a round face. She'd be good-looking If she lost a few pounds. If she weren't so short, if she didn't have so many freckles, if her eyes weren't red from crying herself to sleep, if she her shoulders didn't sag so much from the stress, if her eyes were more alert, if she didn't look like some lost puppy whimpering at the door for scraps.

When Jack knocked on her door, she was ready to leave her room. Looking at her reflection was like looking at a stranger, and for now, Clara didn't feel like having a stranger in her room.

"Good morning, Clara, I am Dr. Hamm."

Clara took the man's hand, rather large compared to her own, and shook it. His eyes twinkled behind a pair of spectacles, and after the handshake ended, he stuck his hand back into the pockets of his lab coat. It hung open, not fully button, revealing a rather simple black and blue plaid dress shirt. His hair was brushed in just the kind of way one does when they roll out of bed, just enough to say that made it up.

Dr. Hamm chuckled. "I've already been filled in on your circumstances for being here. I promise I won't run you ragged. I've been looking for an assistant for a while, so I jumped at the opportunity. Your file says you received your Doctorate in autoimmunology and pathology, correct? The study of micro-organisms?"

"Y-yes, though my emphasis is on T-cell research," Clara said. "I combine my degrees to usually focus on pathologies that primarily affect the production of T-cells and how T-cell research can be used to cure diseases. One of the largest aspects of research in this field is cancer research, actually, reprogramming T-cells to target and eliminate cancerous cells."

Dr. Hamm nodded with a hum. "Right! Yes, you'll do wonderfully as my assistant. Good to have you aboard," he said, shaking her hand again. Clara smiled, her shoulders relaxing. He looked a lot nicer in person that he did on paper.

"Thank you, sir," Clara said.

"Most of your tasks will be assisting me with my reports and fetching certain objects for me. I'll make sure you have a map with the primary locations I'll need you to go to. I also conduct several interviews with various creatures, and often need assistance with my audio recordings and transcriptions, so you'll be doing a lot of that too. For now, I'll show you to the freezer. I study SCP-049, and it requires certain…items that others do not. I'll have you fetch them every two weeks."

SCP-049. Clara's brow furrowed. All of these numbers were getting confusing, she couldn't tell if she had or hadn't heard or read that one before. It seemed to be sticking to her mind, though.

"Right, yes, let's get started," he said, standing up from the break-room table they had met at. "Follow me, please."

Clara and Jack followed after Dr. Hamm. She still wasn't quite used to having someone always looking over her shoulder, but Jack wasn't a bad guy. It was nice to have a name, at least. She wondered if they'd get to know each other a bit more, if that was allowed. Would he be allowed to talk to her casually? Was she already so foolish as to hope for a friend in this lonely place? A friend wouldn't be so bad. Friends kept you sane, helped you keep your head, reassured you when things got dicey. She had a few friends back home. Clara wondered if they missed her, or wondered where she'd gone. Had the Foundation told her friends lies? Did they say that Clara had accepted some wonderful full-time position in the Bahamas, short-notice, or maybe Paris? Did they say that she was sipping martinis on another beach, promising to send them postcards as evidence of her lavish new lifestyle?

Clara nearly laughed at the thought of sending a postcard from where she was now. "Thinking of you, from the place where dreams go to die!"

Dr. Hamm led her through the halls again, slowly becoming a bit more familiar to her, and rambled on about his research. Clara tried to pay attention, but it was harder than she thought.

"-so as a result, we are sure to give the entity a dead mammal every two weeks. It really serves two purposes, keeping the creature calm and giving us a chance to further examine its behaviors."

Clara looked up. "I-I'm sorry, you give it a what?"

"Dead animal. Every two weeks. It prefers more human anatomies, but we do what we can given our location," he continued, and opened a large freezer door. Clara gagged.

Hanging from the ceiling were all manner of creatures: raw meats and dangling appendages ranging from boars to cattle to monkeys to-

Clara covered her mouth. No. She was not going to get sick, not on her first day, they'd kick her out, they'd kill her, and she'd be up there hanging from a spit next.

"Hey," Jack said, turning to her. "You okay?"

"Fine," she gasped. Dr. Hamm stared at her with a cross of sympathy and understanding.

"You'll get used to it."

She really hated that people kept saying that.


	3. Chapter 3: Curiosity

"Do you think you can handle this?" Dr. Hamm asked. "I can see about having you transferred to another area, but I can't guarantee the results will be much different. We're a bit short-staffed at the moment, and most of the 'assets' in containment here will require similar feedings or meals brought to them."

Clara didn't know why she was surprised. Of course, these things would need to eat, they needed to be kept alive and studied. Clara just never imagined herself seeing the raw guts of the food chain staring her down in a freezing room. Clean only where it needed to be, tables lined corners of the rooms and were stacked with butcher knives and saws, sparkling and decontaminated. Other areas of the room had yet to be cleaned: towels covered in brown and red splotches where animals' genes and blood mixed and muddled, bowls of indeterminate liquid were sitting putrid by the sink, awaiting a scrub brush and soap. Throughout it all, a constant cold mist pooled out of the air conditioner above them, coating the room in a layer of frost.

"No, I…I'm fine," Clara insisted. She took a deep breath, though it wasn't as helpful as she had hoped given the ripe scent of meat and formaldehyde, the kind of smell that made her think of a butcher shop or slaughterhouse. She pictured various monsters and creatures all lined up at tables, poking elongated snouts over menus and ordering heaping helpings of "human stew." The thought, as silly as it was, did little to quell the growing unease in her stomach. She was grateful she had forgotten to eat breakfast. Steeling her shoulders, she turned back to Dr. Hamm. "Show me where I can find what I'll need."

He nodded and led her back to a particular area of the freezer where a large goat lay dead on a cold, steel table. Its eyes were open and glassy, looking forward with incomprehensible neutrality. Oh God, she wasn't going to have to cut it open or butcher it herself, was she? She was far from a vegetarian, but after today she didn't think she'd be able to eat lamb for months. Maybe ever again.

"The table it's laying on moves," he said. "I'll have you and your guard move it into SCP-049's containment chamber for me. It won't always be a goat, sometimes it's a chimp or whatever we can find, but it'll always be on this table in the back. I would have just extra personnel get it for me, but you'd be amazed how many times they bring me the wrong thing, and that just wastes time. I'd just feel better with another academic getting it for me. You can double check that it's meant for us by checking this tag here," he said, moving around to the goat's back legs, stiff and limp in all the right and wrong places. He lifted up a plain white tag. "It'll have 'SCP-049' on it, and usually my name underneath it as the 'requester.' Just wheel it back to the cell, it's Room 417. I'm sure you'll memorize the route in no time. I'll help you wheel it back this first time since I'm already here, but usually I'll be busy conducting my own interviews and studies while you're getting it."

Clara was used to running errands, she'd been an intern before. She'd mastered the art of coffee runs and lunch grabs and fetching things from printers and scanners and libraries until she had reached the point where she was the one sending out interns for such things. She had her own office, her own studies to be conducted, research, even a key to the labs at her university. Science was always the one thing that remained a constant source of curiosity. Right when questions were answered, more questions seemed to appear, always the question of why, why, why? Why did this do that? Why did matter move in that way? Why did cells act the way they did, why do diseases do the things they do? Even now, she had questions, though they were different from before. Why did she end up in a place like this? Why did this place have to exist at all, why did weird creatures that could destroy them all or eat her exist, why did she have to have a staring contest with a goat, why, why, why?

Dr. Hamm flipped up the wheel locks on the bottom and nodded. "Alright, let's move it out."

Clara bit her bottom lip and looked away, gripping the edges of the steel table. It was even colder than the room was, but the whirring stew in her stomach still left her sweating and clammy. With a heave, she started backing up, allowing Dr. Hamm to take the far back edge of the table and guide her along. She wasn't sure what was worse, keeping her gaze in front of her and locked on the dead goat, its tongue lolling out of its mouth and sticking to the cold table, or behind her, to watch where she was going, to guide herself through the hanging meats of questionable origins. She looked over her shoulder anyway, trying to focus only on getting out the door, moving carefully about the room. She turned right to avoid a large crate, and swallowed a whimper when her hand brushed against the goat's fur. Ugh, why was it wet, of all things? Another why question.

Finally, they were out of the room and Clara let out a breath she hadn't consciously realized she'd been holding. The doctor grunted. "Don't stop now, Clara, we still have a way to go."

"Right, sorry," she said quickly, grabbing the table again and continuing along the corridors. Guards that were walking back and forth paid them little mind, too caught up in their own affairs to bother worrying about a doctor and his assistant carrying around a dead goat. Or maybe this was just another day on the job for them.

Clara made careful note to track the path they took back to the room which, thankfully, was not very far away. Dr. Hamm was helpful in pointing out certain landmarks that may help her on her next trip, though he recommended she walk it a few times before then since they only provided SCP-049 with items once every two weeks or so. Before they reached the room, Dr. Hamm paused, causing Clara to halt as well. He looked at her plainly, his mouth twisted into a frown.

"Is something wrong, Dr. Hamm?" she asked.

"Well it's just…you haven't really asked about SCP-049. Aren't you curious as to what it is, to what this is for?" he said, gesturing to the goat.

Clara swallowed. "Honestly sir, I'm not sure I want to know."

Dr. Hamm sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes, I suppose that's only logical. You're not like the other researchers who come here, clamoring for information and thirsty for knowledge. You were more or less forced into this situation. Yes, a very odd circumstance indeed."

Clara shuffled back and forth, his words making her a bit uneasy to say the least. "No, I suppose I'm not typical. Dr. Hollaway made it very clear that I'm here for convenience sake."

Dr. Hamm grunted, his eyes looking her up and down again. "Yes. Yes I…I'm sure that's right. Now, let's be off, best not to keep SCP-049 waiting."

With another push around the corner, the two arrived in front of their destination. Dr. Hamm scanned his pass and the door swung open. "Right, just push it to the entrance way here, yes, to that little room right there, then step back out, we can't have you in there when the door closes."

Clara wiped her forehead with her sleeve. That goat was heavy, she wasn't sure she would be able to transport something like it on her own next time, though she did have Jack with her, so that was something. Still, looking at it made her gut clench, so she turned her gaze instead to the room. The well-lit fluorescent room held numerous file locked file cabinets, labeled by months. Two desks sat next to each other, each a plain, standard edition that looked just as functional as every other part of this place: plain, hard metal with two drawers on each side. A coffee mug filled with colored pens, pencils, and highlighters sat in the top right corner. Stacks of paper lined the sides of the desk. Notes were scrawled along lines, margins, and the sides of the paper, a chaotic organization known only perfectly by the author themselves. A microphone of sorts was placed in the upper left corner of the desk and was connected with wires to the wall. The other desk was practically bare, with only blank paper, a few files, and an empty coffee mug. It reminded her of a classroom, maybe the tiny room people were sent too when they received detention: secluded and off-set from everywhere else.

"Ah, yes, that's your desk over there," Dr. Hamm said. "It's a bit smaller than mine I'm afraid, but we only have so much space in here. Go ahead and set your files down there and get yourself situated. You don't need to keep your lab coat on, but it can get a bit chilly and that it is technically standard protocol, I'm just not a stickler for such things. It'll be just us two from here on out; well, us and SCP-049."

Clara turned around and, sure enough, Jack was gone. She doubted he had gone far.

Dr. Hamm sat down in his chair, Clara doing the same. Their desks each faced the same window, though the room on the other side was cloaked in shadow. Dr. Hamm pushed a button on the base of the microphone, leaning forward. "Doctor? We have your next specimen ready for testing, if you're awake."

Clara blinked. Doctor? Was SCP-049 a person? Clara's brow furrowed, struggling to put the pieces together. She knew that number was familiar, why-

"Ah, yes, I was waiting for you doctor, you can go ahead and turn on the lights."

Dr. Hamm motioned towards a switch on the wall next to Clara. Clara leaned forward in her chair, switching on the lights. The room in front of them flickered to life, a bright light in the ceiling of the room illuminating the contents within. Clara swallowed.

SCP-049 arose from his seated corner of the room and turned to look at them. A long beak stuck out from a black hooded cloak, and he crossed his arms behind him. He didn't look real, or certainly not of this era. Though, judging by his ethereal demeanor, he didn't really seem to be of any era. Her mind thought 'plague doctor' instinctively, especially judging by the thick English accent she'd heard earlier. But even that felt wrong, like a ruse, like, like a costume he was wearing. Something that he thought fit best, but maybe wasn't really a true representation of what he was.

Dr. Hamm chuckled at Clara's wide eyes, removing his finger from the button for a moment. "Not quite what you were expecting, is he? We call him 'Doctor,' for obvious reasons."

"Is it, is he?"

"Human? We're still not sure. X-rays have indicated a human skeletal structure beneath the robes he's always wearing, but the robes themselves appear like skin, just like that masks seems to be a part of him as well. There's more information in the file that was on your desk. Read up on it when you get the time," Dr. Hamm said, before turning back to the window.

"Can he see us?" Clara whispered.

"Yes."

Dr. Hamm pushed the button again. "Alright doctor, I'm sending your next subject in now." Dr. Hamm stood from his chair and approached the small chamber Clara had pushed the goat into earlier. He closed the door, double checked that it was sealed, and pushed a button on the side. Machinery clicked and whirred inside, and soon the table was pushed out into SCP-049's room. He turned to them and bowed his head slightly.

"My deep appreciation to you both," he said, and walked over to the corpse. He bent over it, rummaging about in his robes. Clara took the opportunity to let her curiosity best her, leaning forward over her table to get a closer look. Dr. Hamm's desk was closer, so from her angle, she could only see the back of SCP-049.

"How can we hear him?" she asked.

"Speakers built into his containment cell. They can be turned off, but we prefer to keep them on in case he makes any other requests. He's, well, he can be a bit talkative at times. Others, he's as quiet as can be. It's always one extreme or the other with this one," Dr. Hamm stated.

"I saw him earlier, in the halls. They were transporting him somewhere, and they had him all braced up," Clara said, words rushing gracelessly from her mouth. "How, I mean, what does he do?"

"Well, we're still trying to figure that out. He's an oddity to be sure, and is dangerous when he wants to be. We're not sure how he can do this, but with a single touch, he can stop all bodily functions in a person."

The color drained from Clara's face.

"He's pretty docile normally, hence why he gets a few more privileges than other SCP's. Namely, test subjects. Though, to be honest, they're more for our own research purposes than his. Keeping him happy is a side benefit," Dr. Hamm explained. "The real trick is he attacks indiscriminately when provoked, and we're still not sure what provokes him aside from his own indication of 'illness.'

"And he, what, he just operates on these things?" Clara asked, watching as he produced tools from his bag, still straining her neck to see.

Dr. Hamm chuckled at the girl, amused at how quickly her demeanor had changed. "Read up on that file. I've got my own research notes to make, and as much as I'd like to, I can't spend all day talking about information I've already written down. Once you've read it over, then you can let me know if you have any other questions."

Clara nodded, still a bit puzzled, but sat back in her chair. Not being able to see exactly what the 'Doctor' was doing was unsettling, especially paired with the unusual squelching and cracking noises she heard near him on occasion. Finally finding both the courage and the determination to pull her gaze away, she looked down at her folder. Her eyes scanned it back and forth, trying to wrap her head around it all.

The Great Pestilence? SCP-049-2? Something about curing people? Clara paused from her reading only once, to ask Dr. Hamm for a pencil to make her own notes, and began circling key phrases that intrigued her.

Dr. Hamm glanced at her occasionally, smirking. Regardless of her circumstances, it was clear the girl was a researcher. A thirst for knowledge had possessed the girl after all. He was prepared for nothing more than a simple errand-girl or assistant, but the way she skimmed over the notes, questioning what she knew reminded him of himself. She may provide unique insight into their guest.

"Good doctor," a voice called out after a few hours, interrupting both Clara and Dr. Hamm's musings. They looked up to see SCP-049 standing in between them.

"Yes, SCP-049?" Dr. Hamm asked.

"You have yet to introduce me to your new assistant. I would like to do such things now, before I become more enveloped in my research," he said briskly. Clara couldn't tell if it was due to the speakers or the mask, but his voice always sounded a little muffled despite her being able to clearly make out every word. It was like the voice was emanating from far away, and was careful enough so that each word seemed particularly thought out and planned. He glanced at her, the beak turning toward her.

"Ah yes, well, I suppose you're right, though I was planning on saving such things for our next interview," Dr. Hamm responded. "SCP-049, Doctor, this is Dr. Clara Elione. She's my replacement assistant."

Clara stood from her seat. Though inches of impenetrable glass separated the two of them, she still didn't feel safe. The way he stood, with his arms carefully crossed and his shoulders raised gave the impression that he was the doctor, and she the creature contained behind the glass. It was unsettling, to say the least.

"Wherein is your specialty, Dr. Elione?" he asked.

"C-" Clara's voice broke, and she cleared her throat before trying again, eyes looking anywhere but to his own. "Auto-immunology specifically, cellular biology more generally," she rushed.

"Ah! Another doctor of science! Splendid, I look forward to sharing my results with you, Dr. Elione," he said briskly.

"Yes, me too," Clara started, looking back up to meet his gaze and cutting herself off. His gaze was just as it was before in the hallway, predatorial. Hungry. Something else she couldn't quite read, curious maybe, though it seemed like too playful a word to match the cryptic gaze he was giving her. Finally, he turned back to his work, just as silent as before. Clara sank back into her chair, running a hand through her hair.

"Clara, why don't you go take a break?" Dr. Hamm asked. "Go get yourself a cup of coffee, Jack can show you to the break room. SCP-049 isn't going anywhere."

Clara nodded gratefully, trying not to scramble too obviously out of her chair. "Thank you, sir," she said, and left the room.

Dr. Hamm waved her off and then let his hand fall back at his side. She was an interesting case alright. He hoped those higher ups knew what they were doing. She was smart, but he still hadn't quite decided if their decision to place her here was a good one or not. He hadn't noticed any of the predicted changes they had written about in SCP-049. With a sigh, Dr. Hamm turned back to the window and jumped, startled, in his seat.

SCP-049 had stopped instantly in his autopsy, standing an inch from the window, and staring motionlessly after where Clara had left. Dr. Hamm watched, slack-jawed for a moment, and right as he pushed the button to ask SCP-049 what was wrong, it turned and resumed its study on the animal. Dr. Hamm let his finger fall, and unlocked a drawer in his desk, pulling out Clara's file.

Maybe those higher ups were on to something after all.

* * *

Dr. Hollaway paced along the raised walkway, watching security move in and out of the building, bringing in packages, containers, and weapons. Everything ran like clockwork in the foundation. Everything had its place and its purpose. Each package was noted, and the exact number of contents within kept in a strict itinerary. Control was the most important aspect of their safety. There were some things that were always out of their control, of course. Individual behavior. The ever-steady possibility of a containment breach, no matter how quickly it may or may not be contained. Tardiness. He crossed his arms and frowned.

"Ivar, you're late," he barked as another man stepped up behind him.

The tall scientist laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "Only by a few minutes, you need to relax, Hollaway."

"If you want this to work, timing is everything," Dr. Hollaway responded. "You went through all this trouble to have me convince that girl that you were dead. What would happen if she stumbled upon you now?"

"She's down with Raymond Hamm right now, about to go on break. She's not going to see me," Dr. Ivar responded, pushing his round glasses up higher on his nose. He grinned and leaned over the railing, his white lab-coat unbuttoned and hair disheveled.

"I still don't understand why you insisted on going through such elaborate lengths to get her here. I'm sure she would have just come willingly, or even unwillingly if we got desperate. Faking that we killed you?"

"We need to make sure that she stays in line. Now she knows there are consequences to her actions. I'm a death on her shoulder now, Dr. Hollaway, and that gives me an invisible leverage. A weight, if you will. Not to mention, I think this study will work better with her being the way that she is. Can you imagine the unique possibilities presented to us here? The things that we could gain to learn from her?"

"Uh…huh," Hollaway grunted. "I just hope this is what you really think it is."

"Please, I didn't spend three years undercover on just a whim, you know. Have a little faith, Dr. Hollaway," Ivar said. "You made sure SCP-049 crossed paths with her?"

"Yes, I did," Hollaway said. "And just like you said, he noticed a difference. Stopped his escorts in their tracks. You might actually be right about this."

Ivar's eyes gleamed. "I know I am."

* * *

 **Thank you so much to everyone who has read** ** _The Color of the Cure_** **up until now. Special thanks to DustyOldAttic for his great suggestions and careful review, be sure to go check out his awesome SCP Foundation Mythos piece,** ** _Loop: Zero_** **if you haven't already.**

 **I'm excited to keep working on this piece and unraveling more of the mysteries surrounding Clara, SCP-049, and the Foundation as a whole. The next chapter will be introducing a few more SCPs that will be present throughout the piece, so be ready! Thanks again for making it this far, and see you all next time!**


	4. Chapter 4: Flesh and Rot

Clara stepped out of Dr. Hamm's office, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. It was cold against her flimsy lab coat, but she felt a deeper cold in her bones, resting in the bit of her stomach.

Jack glanced at her and raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. "How'd it go?"

"I'm in a room, researching a highly intelligent and terrifying monster. All things considered, it went peachy," she muttered.

Jack snorted and faced her. "Break time?"

"Dr. Hamm said you'd know where to get me some coffee," she said.

Jack paused and looked down at the girl. Her eyes were downcast and far-off, reminiscing of either better times or frightful ones, and he wasn't sure which was worse in her case. She looked so small pressed up against the door, like it might swallow her whole. Was he like that when he first started working here? Yeah, he supposed he probably was, and he'd come here willingly under promises of protecting his country, recommended under the highest reviews. Yeah, he'd come here willingly, he'd signed his life away eagerly.

"What's your favorite drink?" he asked.

Clara looked up, brow furrowing in confusion. "I…huh?"

"It's not twenty questions, Clara, I'm serious, what's your favorite drink?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Um…peppermint hot chocolate," she said.

Jack laughed. "Aren't you from Florida? Isn't that more of a cold, wintery drink?"

Clara blinked and then puffed out her cheeks, looking away. "H-hey, mornings can get cold in Florida! I don't prefer coffee because caffeine makes my head hurt."

Jack smiled and started walking. "Come on, Clara, let's go get you some peppermint hot chocolate."

Clara watched him for a moment, still confused before hurrying after him when she realized he might leave her behind.

After a few moments of travelling through the halls and up a few flights, Clara and Jack made it to a large room filled with an assortment of people. Researchers and guards chatted nonchalantly at tables and next to vending machines or a cafeteria line. Tables were lined up in even rows and filled with uneven people. Trays of tuna melts and taco salad decorated the tables like school-yard centerpieces. Styrofoam cups and candy wrappers filled trash cans. Most of the guards had their helmets and masks off, revealing friendly and laughing faces far too unfamiliar to Clara. For the first time since her arrival, she began to see the people who worked there and not the personnel. Jack took off his helmet and mask, leading Clara to the other side of the room where a large coffee-type vending machine sat, guarded by two still-covered men.

Jack flashed his badge and each guard nodded in unspoken understanding. "So, when you say you like peppermint hot chocolate, is there a specific brand or coffee shop kind you like?"

Clara tilted her head slightly. "Well, I suppose I've always like the kind my coffee shop back home used to make me. They're called The Choco Café, but I don't think they sell their mixes in stores."

"Not a problem," Jack said absentmindedly. He inserted a quarter into the machine and began typing into a keypad. The machine whirred for a moment and then produced a simple cup with a steaming hot liquid. Jack handed the cup to Clara with an eager smirk. "Take a sip."

Clara raised an eyebrow, a little put off by his suddenly cocky attitude, but took a drink regardless. Her eyes widened slightly. Velvety sweet and chocolatey, with a crisp hint of mint on the aftertaste. "It…it tastes just like it! Just like I'm sitting back at that café!"

Jack chuckled and stepped back slightly, gesturing to the machine. "Say hello to SCP-294. Pretty neat, huh?"

Clara instinctively took a step back. It was one of those _things?_ One of those anomalies?

"It's not going to eat you, Clara, otherwise we wouldn't put it out here," Jack said, getting a cup of coffee for himself.

"So…it can just produce any drink you want?" Clara asked, finally taking a step closer.

"Give it a quarter and it can produce any _liquid_ you want," he clarified.

"Any liquid?" Clara asked, raising her brow again.

"That's why we're here," one of the guards muttered. "To make sure nobody does something stupid like ordering a cup of liquid mercury or anything else that could be dangerous."

"That's kind of amazing," Clara said, immediately bending over to get a better look at the machine. "Incredible. Have any of you ever opened it up to see what makes it do that?"

Jack shrugged. "That's a question for someone who gets paid more than I do. I just figured I'd show you that not every weird thing in this world has to be bad. Not all SCP's are instant death. Some are just oddities, like this one." He turned to Clara, his eyes softening a bit. He looked away. "We're not monsters, Clara. We're just people hoping to keep the world a little bit safer. Sometimes that means we have to do things that aren't pretty, or nice, or even legal. But we're maintaining order and saving lives." His eyes scanned over the room. "Everyone here is here for their own reasons. But the people who run this place, you think they're bad people? If they were bad people, they'd be letting these things run wild. They'd let the world just fall to ruin. There're things in here that could destroy us all with a thought, with a twitch, with a snap. But the Foundation, they help. Maybe not perfectly, maybe there's things we can do better, but we do what we can. Ain't that enough?"

Clara looked down at the cup in her hands, steam rising from the liquid and wafting up into the air. She was surrounded by sounds of chatter, laughter, idle gossip, giggling. Human interaction. Normal people. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine herself back at her university's dining hall, listening to undergraduates lamenting about their tests and papers, parties they attended over the weekend, work to be done the next morning, everyday life. She looked up, glancing over the people of all nationalities, crowded together in groups. They were normal people in an abnormal place.

"C'mon, let's go sit down over there," Jack said, pointing to a table where a group of guards sat, laughing among each other. Clara followed Jack.

If they were all here for different reasons, to protect the world in some way shape or form, why was she here? Didn't that make her a liability? It didn't make sense to her. Surely they would want only the best trained soldiers and scientists to avoid breaches and security risks. Could she fit into their mold, could she match their shape? A puzzle piece that didn't belong in the bigger picture here, but maybe if she forced and pushed enough, she'd find a place. Even if it wasn't perfect.

Clara took another sip of her drink. It really was good.

When they approached the table, Clara was met with three pairs of eyes, each seated across from each other. One was an Asian woman with fierce eyes and a big smile. Her black hair was long and cut into sharp bangs. Seated across from her was a giggling man bent over his cup. His strawberry-blonde hair and scruff of a goatee made him look a bit like a high school dropout, someone who she would have imagined starting his own metal band somewhere, but his eyes were intelligent and attentive. Next to him was a bigger man, quiet, somber, and easily twice Clara's size. He could have been a linebacker, and he picked at his food with the stubbornness of a five-year-old child.

"Everyone, this is Clara," Jack said. "She's gonna hang with us every now and then. Clara, this is Blue, Tetris, and Bear, respectively."

Clara smiled and gave a small wave. "Those are interesting names," she said.

The girl, Blue, laughed. "Take a seat and we'll tell you how we got 'em."

Clara couldn't help but laugh along, the girl's low and gruff voice catching her off-guard. She took a seat next to Blue and Jack sat at her other side.

"Come on Blue, don't overwhelm the new girl with stories the second she sits down, she just got here," Tetris said, but the grin on his face gave away his eagerness. Underneath the table, his foot bounced up and down with a consistently erratic rhythm.

Blue ignored him and turned to Clara. "So, I'm Blue, like the raptor from that dinosaur movie, you know? That awesome one who kicks ass?"

Clara blinked. "Sorry, not sure if I've seen that one."

"Tch, well that's disappointing, that ruins the whole gimmick. I'm fast, I'm tough-"

"And as long as you feed her, she'll do whatever you say," Tetris interrupted, laughing at his own joke.

Blue's eye twitched. "You wanna end up on the menu today, Tet?"

"Why do you call him Tetris?" Clara asked.

"Because he sucks at it," Jack smirked. "Claimed he was one of the contenders for world championship when we first met him. Finally got the chance to set him down in front of a machine and he couldn't even pass Level 1 before babbling up excuses. So now we immortalize his shame by calling him Tetris."

Tetris grinned sheepishly. "Stories make a person interesting. Sometimes my stories just aren't true, that's all."

Clara turned to the last man in their group, swallowing a bit as she craned her neck to look up at him. "Ah, you must be Bear then."

"Yup," Bear nodded.

"Don't let him fool you, Clara, we call him Bear because he's a softy. Not in the sense that he's sweet or anything, which he is. We call him Bear for ironic purposes."

Bear shuffled in his seat, looking away. "It's dumb."

"Bear, you can't handle anything that isn't sweet. You know, like honey."

"Coffee is bitter. Spicy things burn. Sweet things are just the best, that's all there is to it."

"Oh, here, try this hot chocolate," Clara said, handing him her cup. "I don't like coffee either, it gives me too much of a headache. But this is really sweet so I like it."

Bear smiled and reached for the cup before Jack grabbed it first and set it aside. "Why don't you just tell him what kind you order next time he goes up to the machine?" he asked. His voice held a firmness that Clara was familiar with, though not when he took off his mask.

Clara blinked, but nodded, taking another drink. Maybe she had been too bold, maybe she was making too many assumptions about herself. All she had done was offer a drink, but was that going too far? She'd drank out of it first though, maybe it was just a security thing. Jack had introduced her to his friends, and it was easy to forget that she wasn't just another worker.

But she wasn't. She wasn't like them. She wasn't here for a big paycheck, or for a sense of honor in protecting what's good in the world. She wasn't here with a profound curiosity for the unknown. She was a prisoner here. She'd almost forgotten.

With her eyes focused elsewhere, Jack shot Bear a look and shook his head ever so slightly. Unspoken words passed between the group, each member casting curious and hesitant glances at Clara. The uncanny silence was interrupted only by the sounds of Tetris scrapping his fork across the bottom of his tray to scoop crumbs into his mouth.

"So, is Jack your real name, or another nickname?" Clara asked, desperate to break the silence. To revive the illusion that she was an equal among them.

"Nah, that's his real name," Blue added. "His nickname is G.I. Jack. Get it? Like G.I. Joe?"

"'Cause Jack is all business," Tetris added. "Pure-blooded solider, through and through."

Clara looked up at Jack, but he was too busy gathering his things and standing up from the table. "Well, we should be getting back, we'd only come here to grab a coffee or two."

Clara stood. "It was nice to meet you all."

"You too, Mouse."

"M…Mouse?" Clara asked, wrinkling her nose.

Bear smiled. "Yeah. Quiet. Tiny. Like a little mouse."

Jack snorted as he led Clara away from the table and the laughter of the people sitting there. Jack led her back through the halls, back to the lab, back to her cell. She supposed Mouse wasn't the worst name they could have given her. She was kind of happy to have been given a nickname at all, like she had been accepted into some sort of exclusive group. Her rite of passage had been paid and now she was in the clear, one of them. She could pretend that she was just another researcher there. She could pretend that she was there of her own free will, to protect the greater public and learn more about the world. She could believe that she belonged. She could pretend. Imagination was never a strength Clara possessed, aside from her art supplies, and even then, she preferred to sketch things she could see, nothing from her own mind and creation. Her pictures were always of others. People, animals, landscapes, insects, plants, clouds, images and snapshots of the real world through her own perception. She couldn't create something just from her mind, something original. However, as Clara followed Jack back to their room, noticing the stony silence that dwelled in the halls the second the cafeteria door closed, she felt that maybe she'd start getting better at pretending. She had long enough to practice.

Dr. Hollaway hadn't given her an "end of sentence" date. Judging by his tone, he didn't have one. If Clara wanted out of here, she imagined that she'd have to earn their trust, work her way up the ranks, if it was possible for her to do so. Even then, she'd have to be careful. She didn't want to end up like Dr. Ivar.

Clara swallowed a lump in her throat and guilt latched on to her heart. If only she'd never gone into his office. She wouldn't be here, and an innocent man wouldn't be dead. He'd always seemed nice to Clara, offering her help with her research or letting her use his students for surveys and research, and when he read one of her papers, he requested the full transcript for his own research. Clara had been more than happy to loan it to him. It seemed too cruel, too harsh to just kill him.

That was all behind her now, she supposed, though she wasn't sure what he had been doing at her university in the first place if he was a member of the SCP Foundation. He'd been a professor there for quite some time, so she'd never had any indication that something may have been different or off. Maybe he was researching something? Maybe there was an anomaly that couldn't be contained by traditional means that he was observing.

Clara shuddered, realizing that the later possibility was very likely. The common person was perfectly content walking around each day with no knowledge of the fact that, at any moment, an SCP could swallow them whole or twist their world to their own whim. Had she ever come across an SCP before now, without knowing it? Was she lucky, or was it benign, like the coffee machine?

"How does the Foundation cover up so many SCPs?" Clara asked. "Surely I'm not the first person to come across someone's notes before. Has anyone ever tried to go public? Or have people been around to view an SCP before it was contained?"

Jack shrugged. "Sure, probably. But you'd be amazed what the Foundation can do when something needs to get done. Cover stories, fake news articles, scientific 'de-bunking' of something. If they get really desperate they can release amnestic gas too, though I don't think they like to do that much. That's not really my area of expertise."

That made sense, Clara supposed. Of course, the Foundation would have some sort of amnestic to keep all of this under wraps. But if that was the case, why hadn't they just done that to her?

Clara paused, letting that realization fully sink it. It didn't make sense. Why hadn't she been the one to be killed, or had her memory erased? Why would they go through all of this trouble?

Clara still felt like her head was swimming with too much information, too much to handle and process, it felt like too much. Right as she was beginning to gather some semblance of her thoughts, they had arrived back in front of their lab. Jack took up his post outside the door. "Well. Good luck."

"Yeah," Clara said, eyeing the door. She paused before she pushed the button to open it. "Hey, Jack? Thanks. For today. I needed it."

Behind his mask, Jack smiled, and Clara entered the lab.

* * *

Before Clara knew it, she had fallen into a routine. For the rest of the week, she helped with Dr. Hamm's research. She filed away binders and folders full of documents and transcripts about SCP-049 and even compiled reports about other SCPs too. She learned not to linger on any of them for too long, or she'd lose her appetite for the day. What she did read both fascinated and horrified her. A possessive mask that killed its wearer the moment they put it on, after compelling them to do so. An unkillable lizard. An amusement park of literal death. A human succubus. Filed away by number, like they were inconsequential. Unimportant. Just another task to file away.

And then there was SCP-049. She'd grown to learn a lot about him, too, though moreso through reading his file as opposed to watching him. His day-to-day tasks remained the same. Each morning, he awoke and resumed his work. He'd operate for hours at a time, occasionally making notes in his journal or removing syringes and tools from his bag, sometimes things that didn't seem to possibly be able to fit inside of it. He hadn't spoken a word since the first day, completely focused on his work that it almost seemed a natural instinct, an animalistic nature to carry out a duty that none of them could possibly comprehend. Most often, their days were filled with the sounds of breaking bones and cutting flesh, sounds Clara was disgusted at how quickly she became accustomed to.

At lunch or breaks, she'd join Jack and his friends, sometimes some of them sometimes all of them, to eat and chat. The nickname "Mouse" had caught on rather quickly, but Clara didn't mind as much as she thought she would.

But as often as routines are formed, they are broken.

"Clara, I want you to assist me with an interview of SCP-049," Dr. Hamm said. Clara had been in the middle of putting files away, and her pause was enough to send the papers floating out of her file to the floor. She didn't make a move to pick them up at first, instead staring at Dr. Hamm as if waiting for him to crack a smile. He didn't.

"We conduct interviews quite regularly with him. I would like you to be there with me this time, in his cell with him. I already have my questions prepared. I just want you to watch, in case I decide you should do your own interviews in the future."

Clara glanced over at SCP-049, who was still dutifully working on the corpse of the goat. It had started to rot, Clara could tell by the discoloration and congealing of blood. It didn't smell, not through those glass windows and steel walls, but just thinking about how awful that odor must be made her want to gag.

She bent down to start picking up the papers. Her hands shook and wobbled, ruffling them as she stuffed them back into the folder.

"We'll have him escorted to another room, one a bit more secure than this and a bit…cleaner."

"Why," Clara swallowed. "Why can't we just talk to him through the microphone?"

"We did, at first. He prefers to talk in person. Claims that it's easier to express his findings. We keep him secure, he's been more than compliant to our demands, so we're willing to follow a few of his. The room that we take him too allows for more security too, just in case," Dr. Hamm said. He stood above Clara and watched her pick up the papers, one by one, prying them off of the floor and scooping them away.

"When?" Clara asked.

"In an hour, we'll move him. If you'd like to go to the restroom or gather your bearings, that's more than alright," he said, watching as she finally stood back up and put the papers away. "I'm going to do the same. I'll meet you back here in thirty minutes." Dr. Hamm left the room, leaving Clara alone. Clara ran a hand through her hair, keeping her gaze downward. The room felt like it was spinning and she leaned forward, pressing her hand against the wall for support, and trying to keep her legs underneath her.

A horrible gurgle drew her to look up. Bleating filled the room. The goat kicked violently on its table, squirming and screaming. It flopped about like a dead fish, that horrible screaming continuing to fill the room, it was beyond a simple baying, it was a horrible well of agony and animal cries. Filled with fear and rage, the goat pounded its legs against the wall, again and again, black fluid leaking from stitched wounds.

Clara screamed, pushing herself back against the wall, as far away as she could. The flailing creature fell from the table, groaning on the ground. It stood a moment later, mouth stretched open in a constant low moan. It started ramming the wall, again and again and again. Its head bloodied, horns breaking off at the tip. It rammed again with another scream, and then flopped to the ground. One final leg twitch. One last sigh of breath. Then it was as still as death again.

Clara grabbed the nearest trashcan and bent over it, retching. She wobbled back to her feet, she hadn't thrown up, surprisingly, just gagged out saliva and empty air. She leaned again on the wall, her whole body pressed forward for support as she tried not to retch again. She wasn't sure if she could keep down her lunch this time.

"Is something the matter, Miss Clara?"

She stiffened, slowly turning her gaze upward.

Oh. She hadn't been leaning on the wall. She had pressed her hand to the window. SCP-049 stood in front of her, nothing but glass keeping them apart.

He was so close she could see eyes beneath the mask. She could see every detail, the way his cloak ruffled, the way shadows covered his face, shrouded his features, made him far more monster than man. If her heart could beat out of her chest, she imagined that it would burst out of her throat, flop to the table and stutter to a halt in front of him, an offering of her horror.

"There is no need to look so scared. I am not going to harm you. I am a doctor, just as you are. We do not harm out patients," he said. If he had a mouth, she couldn't see it move. Behind him, the bloodied and bruised corpse of the goat pooled out black blood, matting its fur and staining the ground.

If she was in hell, he was the devil, he was the epitome of her fear, of her terror, the gatekeeper constantly reminding her of her place here. He was death, he was the end, he would consume her eventually, oh God, why did her head hurt so much, she felt like an animal trapped in a corner. Under his gaze, Clara couldn't tell who was supposed to be examining who.

With shaky fingers, Clara reached out and pressed the button on the microphone. She swallowed, letting the static linger for a moment. Her mouth opened, closed, and her hand lifted back up. She didn't know what she had wanted to say. She bit back another scream. Clara grabbed her bag and fled from the room.

SCP-049 stood by the window, hand itching out of his bag at his side, just out of her view. His gloved thumb moved up and down the scalpel, eyes wide behind his mask. She had been so close, so close that if the glass wasn't there, he could have cut her up and figured out just what made her so different from all of the others. She did not have the Pestilence, that much he was certain of. She was immune, that he was certain off too. But there was something else, an itch in his mind, a fragment of something that kept squirming out of his reach, a phrase he couldn't quite form words from, something, something important, something that his tongue couldn't form the words too, that his mind tried to grasp through writhing thoughts, but always fell short.

He supposed it didn't really matter. He let his grip on the tool relax, calmly placing it back in the bag. Patience was a virtue, and he was nothing if not a virtuous soul, seeking to cure the world. He had waited this long, he could wait a while longer. If he was careful enough, he wouldn't have to wait long at all. In fact, he supposed, he'd only have to wait about an hour or so.

* * *

 **And with that, the newest chapter is up and ready! Sorry that this one came out a bit later than the others, I'll try to keep all chapter updates to once every one or two weeks. I'm hoping to start setting official dates for each chapter release soon, but I'm an about-to-graduate-college-student and I have enough dates to keep track of lol.**

 **Anyhoo, thank you to everyone who has continued to read and follow The Color of the Cure up until now. I've got lots of plans for Clara, Jack, and SCP-049, and I've already started to lay out little breadcrumbs and clues throughout the story.**

 **As always, all reviews and comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you all again for sticking this out and I hope you continue to enjoy The Color of the Cure. See you next time!**


	5. Chapter 5: L Multifida

Three guards, not including Jack, came to help escort SCP-049. Another two disposed of the goat's body after Clara left. Dr. Hamm and Clara walked alongside the guards on the side of SCP-049. He was locked in tight chains, just like the first time she saw him. Clara felt like an executioner, leading her next victim to the blockade. But the way he held his head up high, like a dignitary or monarch, no, like a knight looking over a group of peasants, tainted the air with uncertainty. If they were leading him to the gallows, then he appeared to be the self-sacrificing hero, willing to throw himself at death's door for some greater good.

They didn't cross too many personnel. A few guards at doors, but nothing Clara hadn't seen before. No one seemed to acknowledge them much.

Eventually, they reached a large white room with slightly padded walls. A wide table sat in the center of the room, three chairs already placed and ready. Two chairs were on one side, while the last lone chair sat across from them, a plastic throne in an alabaster room. On the other side of the room was a large black window. Clara had no doubt there were people on the other side, ready with pens and paper. People who were other assistants of Dr. Hamm's perhaps, or eager and curious minds that had nothing to do with the project. Maybe even some higher ups. Clara wasn't sure. She was sure that whoever they were, they probably had weapons. Just in case. Or maybe she was just telling herself that through vain hope and disillusion.

The guards escorted the three to the room, sitting SCP-049 down and releasing his shackles. That made Clara shiver. He wasn't going to remain shackled? They were going to let him move about? The guards stood by the door, at the ready. She didn't feel better. And where was Jack? He wasn't in the room with him, it was two different guards. At least Jack would have been a familiar form, someone she could have turned to for some guidance or help if things went wrong.

Dr. Hamm took a seat, and Clara followed suit.

The second she sat down, her heart began beating wildly again, primal instincts screaming at Clara to run away, far away. There was no glass separating Clara and her devil this time. She took a few slow breaths, counting the seconds between each inhale and exhale, trying to calm my frantic heart back to a semi-regular rhythm.

"SCP-049, thank you for letting my assistant sit in on this interview today. We appreciate your continued cooperation," Dr. Hamm started, setting his hands on the table and smiling. He looked like a friendly coworker, or maybe even the 'good cop.' His lab coat was unbuttoned, and his posture was open and relaxed. His eyes, however, were open and alert, scanning for unspoken cues. Clara wasn't sure if she felt safe, but she felt better having him at her side.

SCP-049 nodded. "Of course, we're all doctors here, I am glad I have another to speak with about my findings."

Dr. Hamm glanced at Clara, and she forced herself to clear her throat. "Yes, thank you. I look forward to learning more from you." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded fake and afraid. "As Dr. Hamm previously mentioned, I am Dr. Elione-"

"Elione, the Greek Goddess of soothing pain. The name itself means soothing," SCP-049 interrupted. "Mother of medicine and wife of Asclepius, a hero and Greek God of medicine. Quite a fitting name for a doctor such as yourself."

"Yes," Clara said. She swallowed. "So, I've been told."

Dr. Hamm cleared his throat. "Yes, now, let's begin with the questioning. I-"

"Why were you crying that day?" he interrupted again. His gaze turned fully toward Clara. She found herself wondering again if there was a face behind the mask at all. Clara couldn't find an answer, and wasn't sure why he had asked her either. She hadn't been aware that she was crying at all, or maybe she was, as she had left Dr. Hollaway's office, but if she were, she was still too much in shock to process it. She remembered meeting SCP-049 though. She remembered making eye contact.

"You hold yourself…differently than the other doctors here," he continued. "You are curious, but that is not why you are here. So, tell me, Ms. Elione, why are you here?"

"I'm afraid that's off topic, SCP-049," Dr. Hamm interrupted. "We only have so much time for these interviews, you know."

"Yes. Quite. Very well then, begin with your questions," he said, turning to fully face Dr. Hamm again. Clara let out a breath, finally able to breathe again now that his hungry gaze was fixated elsewhere.

"We've watched you work for several weeks now, and honestly, I'm not sure I understand what you're doing. Can you describe your process in detail?"

"Oh goodness no, the process is most intensive. As I said to one of your other assistants, the best instruction you will find about my methods are here in my journals, as I have kept exhaustive records of my work there." SCP-049 pulled out three journals from his bag, setting them down on the table between them. Dr. Hamm frowned slightly, opening one up.

Clara glanced from Dr. Hamm to the books and, deciding it must be safe to examine, picked one up to open herself. The cover seemed to leather in material, and the pages were worn and old. Symbols and words lined the page, and Clara's eyes eagerly scanned them up and down, flipping from one page to the other.

Dr. Hamm sighed and put the book back. "I see. My concern, doctor, is that we still don't understand what you're seeking to cure or how it manifests, or how turning these creatures into quasi-living, mindless drones helps in that effort. You scared Ms. Clara here near to death with that goat thing earlier today."

Clara shuddered at the memory.

"You do not understand the Pestilence? Even after all this time?" SCP-049 responded, leaning forward. "Doctor, it is an unspeakable horror, one that has shown its true face many times before and will again."

An unspeakable horror? What was he talking about?

"I find myself blessed with the wisdom and good senses needed to root it out and destroy it, but many like yourself cannot. It is a cruel judgement, I fear, to be at the mercy of a disease you cannot fully comprehend!"

Clara's mouth twitched with annoyance. SCP-049's cocky attitude seemed to irritate her for some reason. He seemed to sure of himself, so high-and-mighty, the kind of person that really pissed her off back at her University. The professor who acted like he knew the answers to everything, or the graduate student who had the gall to question her just because he got in on an Accelerated Master's program.

"Could you enlighten us, then?" Clara asked. Dr. Hamm raised an eyebrow at her. "What are some symptoms that those with the Great Pestilence portray?"

SCP-049 scoffed at her. "Surely you can see how it affects so many around us. It's as clear as day."

"Pretend we're children, then," Clara added. "Explain this Pestilence as if we were your assistants, unaccustomed and unfamiliar to it."

Behind his mask, Clara could have sworn she saw his eyes narrow.

"It is a Pestilence that adapts and changes so that it is nearly inconceivable to normal, untrained eyes. It festers inside of a person, infecting them and plaguing them until they are not even a shell of what they once were!"

"That still doesn't answer my question," Dr. Hamm added. "How is your cure any kind of cure at all?"

SCP-049 growled. "It is a cure! You may laugh at my efforts if you please, you may mock me because you cannot see what so plainly exists within this world, but do not besmirch the good name of scientific progress that has developed this great mercy. What you so shortsightedly see here is a life better than any that creature could have hoped for, stricken as it was with Pestilence. This creature is now clean, unable to spread the Pestilence and free from the terror it would have experienced otherwise."

"That thing was horrific," Clara whispered, her heart leaping to her throat. "God, the way it lashed about, bleating and baying like that." Clara's voice started rising. She couldn't get it out of her head, the way its eyes seemed to stare at her, filled with a helplessness and agony that she couldn't comprehend, looking at her as it to beg for help but also in an unspoken rage, and it bashed its head against the wall again and again, just in an attempt to put itself out of its misery. "It's hardly a creature at all!"

SCP-049 rose from his seat, leaning forward. "Do not _jape_ with me, girl!" he spat. Clara leaned back in her chair, falling out of it to the floor. Dr. Hamm stood as well, motioning to the guards. "You're just like so many others, unable to look past minor setbacks to see the salvation taking place before your very eyes. Do you wait to remove rotten timbers until the hall collapses on top of you? No. You find them and you _pull them out_ and replace them with those untouched by rot! And most of all, you do not simply mock the structure because it now looks different to you. It is strong! It is free of disease."

"But your notes don't reflect that at all!"

SCP-049 paused.

Heart beating in her ears, Clara forced herself back to her feet. Her legs shook, and she clenched her hands into fists to try to stop the shaking. She opened the book she was examining earlier, and pointed to the page. "Look, right here," she said. "Why does manipulating the cells in this way do good for the body? You inject them with something, right? I don't know what this is, I don't recognize this chemical compound, but you're editing cells that would normally fight diseases to begin fighting themselves, only to halt the process halfway through and narrow it to certain areas. The cells are attacking mainly the brain processes and neural pathways, but not the organs you're moving around. Why are you moving the organs around this way, anyway? It seems counterproductive!"

"I can't expect you to understand," SCP-049 growled again. "This is far above what _you_ could ever comprehend!" He reached out for her, aiming to grab her throat. His gloved hand was inches from her face, and Clara was frozen in fear.

Suddenly, a sweet smell filled the room, subtle at first, but growing stronger. Clara's eyes watered and she sneezed, rubbing at her nose. She felt funny, lightheaded, all of the sudden, like she couldn't quite gather her thoughts. Dr. Hamm put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back towards the door.

"We're sorry, Doctor. We didn't mean to agitate you. We're just trying to understand."

SCP-049 felt the same. Fleeting feelings of anger and annoyance floated away, and he sank back down into his chair. He took a deep breath, the scent calming him, and his hand finally fell back at his side. "Yes, well, do mind your words in the future. I am a professional, but even professionals may feel the bite of pride in dealing with criticism of their masterpiece. I will forgive you and your assistant as an act of good faith between colleagues."

Clara was having a hard time standing now. Her eyes kept lowering, everything was so foggy, what was that smell? It didn't seem to be affecting Dr. Hamm much. It was sweet and flowery and all too much, too much to think straight or move.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

SCP-049 paused, and look to Clara. The girl was swaying slightly, raising a hand to her head. She seemed uneasy and unwell, but it wasn't the Pestilence. She was still the same as she was before. Immune. He almost had her hands on her. He had acted too quickly, too brashly. He had to be careful, he was always being watched. He had lost her temper when she had so brazenly looked over his notes, questioned what he had been doing. What irritated him even more is that she may have been right, that maybe the way the cells were acting was leading to more negative consequences rather than a perfect cure. He sighed.

"No, that will be all. Another test subject, on the usual schedule. You know my preference of subjects with more human anatomies."

With that final note, Dr. Hamm led Clara out of the room.

SCP-049 watched them go, carefully waiting until they had left before slipping his hand back into his bag. A single strand of Clara's chestnut brown hair caught between his fingers slipped effortlessly into a vial he had prepared. It wasn't what he would prefer as a sample, but it was enough to get started.

* * *

Peering into the room from the window, Dr. Ivar was grinning wildly. He had risen from his chair in all of the excitement, and gripped Dr. Hollaway's shoulder. "Did you _see that?_ " he said.

Dr. Hollaway sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The bags under his eyes felt especially heavy today. "Yes, Ivar, I saw it."

"She could read it. She could read his journals, she could read and understand those bizarre symbols. This means so much, if she still knows how to read the journals, we can learn so much!"

"Yeah? What if there's more that she knows that she's not telling us?" Hollaway asked, turning to Ivar. Ivar, however, seemed oblivious, still smiling madly at the now empty room. "What if he'd touched her?"

Ivar frowned slightly. "Yes, well…that would have certainly been a problem. But the lavender affected him before he could, and Dr. Hamm was aware in pulling her back. Nothing happened."

"He was _close_ , Ivar!" Dr. Hollaway snapped, rising out of his own chair to face the man. "I know how much you have invested in this project, how much we both have invested in this project, but we have to be careful. We _have_ to be careful. That was too close. Way too close."

Ivar sighed and flopped back into his chair, pouting like a child. "Yes, yes, you're right. We'll be more careful next time, maybe start releasing the L. Multifida vapor earlier to keep things in line. To keep him from getting aggressive."

"And Clara?"

Ivar leaned forward, looking over her file. "We'll be more careful. Keep her team up to date on what happened, and be prepared with Phase 3, if necessary. This doesn't have to get out of our control. We just have to be careful, that's all."

Dr. Hollaway took a deep breath, letting it out through clenched teeth. "This whole thing is nuts." He shook his head. "Should we have her transcribe his notes for us?"

"Yes, but give me some time," Ivar said. "I need to figure out a good way to go about it. We can't just ask her to do it, she'll ask why we can't understand it. The less questions she asks, the better. We'll need it to be inconspicuous, subvert."

Dr. Hollaway nodded in agreement, glancing back up through the window to SCP-049. "Do you think SCP-049 realizes?"

Ivar grinned. "Not a chance. Not yet."

Back in the room, SCP-049 behaved calmly while the guards placed his shackles back onto him. Their trained eyes never left his form, waiting for a sign that he might turn hostile. Preposterous, of course, he thought. He only went after those that were infected, and that was a mercy. They were like foolish sheep, the lot of them.

SCP-049 stretched its neck back against the brace, straining to look back at the window, even though he knew he would see no one through it. He peered backwards at them, his head practically upside down to crane a glance, a macabre look that made Hollaway shudder involuntarily. No normal human's neck could stretch in such a way. Both Ivar and Hollaway's expressed turned to grim seriousness, blank canvases the moment SCP-049 moved. The guards, in the middle of returning his braces to his hands and neck, froze. They glanced at each other, one's hand already reaching for their weapon.

Hollaway and Ivar leaned forward. They had no direct way to speak to him from where they were. In fact, aside from the guards, all others had left the room. They could report into the guard's walkie-talkie though. But just as SCP-049 had stretched his neck back to peer at them, he stopped and turned back forward.

Hollaway gritted his teeth, pressing his face into his hands.

Maybe the Doctor knew more than they thought he did.

* * *

Clara woke up back in her room. Getting there was a foggy blur of mixed hallways and muffled voices. Was she dreaming? Everything was kind of murky. She didn't really want to remember what she'd been dreaming. It was best to push such things aside. Had she fainted? Maybe she was even more frightened than she thought she was when faced with SCP-049. It wasn't out of the question. She yawned and rolled over, tempted to catch a few more lingering moments of rest, since she was back in her room anyway. Instead, she was met with a raised eyebrow and sharp blue eyes.

Clara shrieked, scrambling backwards and falling off of the bed with a "thump."

Jack snickered. "Well, that was dramatic."

Clara rose from the floor, draping her arms across the bed. "Wh-what the heck are you doing here, Jack? _In my room?!_ "

"Wanted to check up on you. That is my job after all, and you weren't waking up immediately. You started to stir when I came in, so I figured I'd just take a seat by your bed and wait for you to wake up on your own instead of startling you awake. You're welcome."

"Jack, you're in my room!" Clara said, crawling back on top of her bed. Jack couldn't help but smirk at how flustered she seemed. Ruffled hair and flushed cheeks. She was almost traitorous cute.

"Yes, Clara, you already said that. I do have a key, you know. Privacy isn't really a luxury the Foundation can afford," he said, rising from his chair. He looked around the room. "This room is pretty barren. Don't you have hobbies?" His eyes glanced briefly over the colored pencils and sketchbooks.

"Jack, get OUT!" Clara huffed, grabbing a pillow and raising it above her head.

"Clara, if you raise a weapon against me, I am inclined to incapacitate you-"

"Ouuuuuuuut!" she shrieked, swinging the pillow wildly. Jack laughed and stood, making his way to the door as Clara flung pillow after pillow at him. He caught the last one and looked at her. His blue eyes softened and he smiled.

"Feeling better?"

Clara paused, and lowered the pillow she had raised in the air. She hugged it close to herself. She nodded into the pillow, smiling softly.

"Good," he said. "You get tomorrow off. If you feel like it, we can go walk around and see some of the better facilities this place has to offer. Or, you can stay in your room. That's fine too."

"Wait," Clara said as Jack reached for the doorknob. "Wait."

Jack paused.

"Please don't go," Clara whispered. Her eyes started to water. Everything was too much. SCP-049, the Foundation, everything. She felt like she was going to explode if she were left alone to her own devices. She knew she was telling him to leave just seconds ago, but suddenly the thought left her terrified. She wanted to take back her shouts, beg him to stay, as childish as it was.

Jack should have just opened the door and left. He knew better. He'd been here long enough. He knew to not get attached. He knew that he was breaking a hundred rules. He could get demoted. He could get reassigned. But he looked back at her, saw her eyes brimming with tears. She looked scared.

He could admit that she was rather boring at times. True to her name, Mouse, she didn't seem to have much personality aside from "scared." But could he blame her, in this environment, where she was just as much a prisoner as some of the other monsters housed in these halls? Her instincts told her to survive. She likely had little time to dedicate to anything else. Even Tetris and Blue had remarked how bland she could be, that even when they hung out, she did little to contribute. Was it harsh? Probably.

But he couldn't blame her. Not with the way she was now, not with the way she hugged the pillow to her chest, gripping at the edges like it was a lifeline. She buried her face in the fluff of it, shuddering as she bit back tears.

He'd knew what happened back in the interview. He was surprised by how bold she was to challenge him, like something had come over her. He was kinda impressed. But now, reality had seemed to catch up to her all at once.

Don't be a hero. He tried to tell himself that, even as he let go of the door and walked over to her. Heroes get in trouble. Heroes can get themselves killed.

But he'd joined this Foundation under the pretenses of wanting to be a hero. Jack sat down next to her on the bed, pausing a moment before wrapping one arm over her shoulders. She collapsed into him, burying her face in his side, a mess of tears and quivering lips. Choked sobs filled the room, and Jack rubbed her back soothingly.

He should have just opened the door and left.

* * *

 **And that is Chapter 5. Sorry this chapter took a while to come out, but I had a lot of things I wanted to reveal and type out. This chapter will begin to change the tone for the rest of the story. The next chapter won't be out for a few weeks, I'm finishing up my finals and studies and will be focusing on them for a while. Expect my next chapter to be released mid-December. Thank you all for your continued follows, favorites, and reviews. If you haven't heard of him already, I highly recommend TheVolgun's videos on YouTube, he does fantastic audio recordings of some of the myths. Let me know if there's an SCP you're hoping to see pop up in the story. Who knows? You may just get your wish!**


	6. Chapter 6: Leftover Lazarus

Dr. Hamm cleared his throat, trying for the third time to straighten his tie successfully. Failing, her resorted to fidgeting with his lab coat buttons instead.

Dr. Ivar and Dr. Hollaway sat across from him, Ivar flipping through files and folders faster than Hamm could follow. His eyes could scan a page up and down before Dr. Hamm could even blink. Dr. Hamm was smart, he knew he was, he prided himself on his intelligence. His smarts had gotten him to where he was now, a prestigious position with an organization most people didn't even know existed. He wasn't just a scientist, he was someone who was a crucial part of an organization created to sustaining world order. He was more a hero than a scientist, and he often told himself such when he would look over photos of his wife in his room late at night. Ex-wife, he supposed. He couldn't blame her, for cheating that is. He'd certainly been gone long enough for work, been gone for months at a time without so much as a word. She had just gotten lonely, and even after she'd told him of the affair, their marriage hadn't ended until the divorce papers had been delivered to his desk. He hadn't even noticed them for a week. No, he couldn't blame his wife for leaving or for cheating. This job was a lonely one, but it was still one he would have chosen over her any day. He knew he was a smart intellectual who others looked to with respect. He was someone that other scientists and assistants envied. He could hold his head high.

People like Ivar just made him nervous. People beyond plain old smarts. Hamm didn't need to ask to know that Ivar had an eidetic memory. He never seemed to look at the same page twice, and flipped so quickly he didn't even seem to be reading the pages. Back in college, so many years ago, someone like Ivar would have pissed the hell out of Dr. Hamm, someone who was smart just by existing, who climbed the ranks and worked his way up with little to no effort, who passed exams with such ease, it was like a flick of the wrist. Yeah. Someone like that, Dr. Hamm would have hated.

But they weren't in college, and Dr. Hamm knew better than to surrender to such idle, trivial temptations such as envy. Dr. Hamm and Ivar were both Level 3 personnel, but it was no secret that Ivar could have been promoted years ago. The site was in quite a bit of an uproar, in fact, when Ivar turned down the offer. Only Hollaway accepted, when it was offered to him.

Hollaway cleared his throat, and Dr. Hamm jumped. "Can we get started now, Raymond Hamm?"

Dr. Hamm nodded, pulling at his collar. "Y-yes, that's fine."

"You understand that your request for a meeting is not something to be taken lightly, right? We're busy."

"Yes. I understand that quite well, thank you."

"Then speak," Hollaway said, raising an eyebrow. He glanced over at Ivar, who was only just now closing the folders and putting them into neat, organized piles.

"I do not think our security measures are sufficient enough for SCP-049-B," Dr. Hamm blurted out. He winced. He'd hoped to phrase it a bit more eloquently than that.

"What are your reasons for believing this?" Hollaway asked.

"I don't think we're keeping it far enough away from Clara. Guards have noticed increased activity as of late in SCP-049-B. SCP-049-A has been acting unusual as well, especially after the interview last week between him and Clara. He's just been writing in his journal, in the corner of his cell. He's normally very quiet, but lately he won't so much as acknowledge my presence at all. He hasn't even inquired about his next test subject."

"Has Clara been with you when you have tried to interact with him?"

"No I…I gave her some time off from coming into SCP-049's research area."

Hollaway's eyes narrowed. "I don't remember authorizing that. I said that you were free to give her time and space as you deemed necessary for her mental health, but not for such a long time. Why the delay?"

"Well, sir, she's scared. Rightfully so, I'd say. Though I gave her the journals to look over, as you instructed. We've been looking over the inscriptions, as you asked," Hamm said.

Ivar leaned forward. "And?!"

"Nothing," Hamm muttered with a sigh. He set his arms on the table, interlacing his fingers. "She says it's just scribbles now. That before, they looked like real words. But now, there's nothing. I asked about what she could remember from what she read before, but she said that every time she tried to remember, she got a headache."

Ivar sat back in his chair, peering down at the pile of folders. His eyes were motionless, and his hands were crossed in front of his mouth in silence.

"So what about this makes you think our containment for SCP-049-B isn't sufficient?" Hollaway asked. "Has she been acting strangely?"

"Well, I already noted SCP-049-A's behavior. But Clara has been…restless. It could be nothing, but the area I took her to, to transcribe the notes was closer to SCP-049-B's cell. Not too close mind you, but Clara almost wandered off. Twice. She kept turning down halls toward the cell, and when I asked her about it, she seemed just as confused as I was. Not to mention her sleepwalking…"

Hollaway nodded. "You're worried she's being drawn to it."

"Yes. I am. I know the delicacy of the situation, and I know that things have to be done carefully. All I'm asking is that things be done a bit more carefully," Dr. Hamm stated.

"We are confident in all of our precautions," Hollaway answered. Dr. Hamm could have sworn that he rolled his eyes, but maybe it was just the light. "All the same, I'll be sure to review our procedures to see if more can be done." He stood from the table, Ivar robotically following suit. "Please, next time just send us an email, I'm busy trying to run this whole site," he snapped.

Definitely hadn't imagined the eye roll.

"Now you listen!" Dr. Hamm said, rising from his own chair. "It's one thing to make accusations and demands of me, for your own personal pet project, but this is my life and safety we're also talking about here! It's so easy for you to make your demands behind your offices and bullet-proof glass, but I'm the one who has to interact with her every day! That…that thing! I'm a scientist too, not just some expendable Class D that you can send out for termination at a whim! I demand to be treated with some respect!"

Dr. Hamm wheezed, sucking in air after his rant. He was sweating now, he could feel the little beads drip down his nose.

Dr. Ivar slowly rose from the table. He took off his glasses, folded them, and tucked them into his jacket pocket, before finally meeting Dr. Hamm's eyes.

"You're right, Raymond. You deserve to be treated with respect. So, I ask of you, what would you have us do?"

Dr. Hamm paused. "I-"

"Would you have us move SCP-049-B to another location? Would you have us risk it being exposed to another personnel member? Would you have us risk a repeat of Incident Report 049-3? Since you think so highly of yourself, let me refresh your memory." Dr. Ivar opened the top folder of the pile, and shoved the images in Dr. Hamm's face. "April 16. Two years ago. Eighteen dead. Twenty-five wounded. Mandatory psych treatment for fifteen personnel that just so happened to be near this incident. Look at these pictures, Dr. Hamm. Do you think these men were expendable? Do you think that any of these good men and women's lives were worth more than yours? That was just getting SCP-049-B into the site. Would you really have us try to move it again? So that you can feel a little more 'safe?' Would you prefer to be removed from this assignment altogether?"

"No," Dr. Hamm said. "I was the first that SCP-049 chose to speak to. He is my assignment."

"Then you will do well to remember your place. It's not just your life on the table anymore, Dr. Hamm. It never was. So, when you have a serious inquiry or safety concern, please let us know. Until then, return Clara to the research room and do your job. Or I'll have someone else do it for you." Ivar scooped up the rest of the folders and took back the one in front of Dr. Hamm, walking out of the room. Hollaway followed behind, barely giving Raymond Hamm so much of a glance on the way out.

Dr. Hamm shakily sat back down, putting his head in his hands.

Yeah. Raymond Hamm was pretty sure he hated Dr. Ivar alright.

* * *

Clara stood in front of her mirror, flattening out the few wrinkles in her lab coat and trying to ignore the bags under her eyes. Her brief break had been nice, but she knew it couldn't last forever. She knew it was only a matter of time before she'd have to go back to work, and start proving her worth again. She'd hoped the time off would give her some time to mentally prepare, but it hadn't. She was dreading going back now, more than ever. She tried to embrace the researcher inside of her, tried to tell herself that she should look forward to getting back to studying, but she supposed lion trainers would be reluctant to return to work after almost getting eaten by a lion as well.

Jack knocked and entered before she could even give him permission, something he'd gotten in a bad habit of lately. "Time to go."

"You know, the point of knocking is to make sure it's okay to enter," Clara said, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. "What if I was still changing?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Then I'd get a nice show?"

"UGH!" Clara turned away from him in disgust, earning a chuckle from Jack.

"Clara, I've got your schedule down like the back of my hand. You get up around 6:30 every morning. You take a shower, brush your teeth, then get dressed by 7:30. You stare at yourself in the mirror until 7:35, and it is currently 7:36. That's stuck true even during this week off. Do you want to come get some breakfast or not?"

"You take your job very seriously," Clara said, grabbing a few folders and miscellaneous items before following him out the door. It sealed and locked shut behind her. "Do you ever get bored just following me around all day?"

Jack shrugged. "Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes I wish I could be out there with other teams who go and bring in dangerous SCPs or investigate reports, or even explore SCP areas. Something where I could really make a difference, really go out and save the world."

"But aren't those jobs more dangerous?"

"Of course. But that's the point. I don't mind danger. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't go seeking it out, but you can't really be a hero without some danger to save someone from. Even if no one acknowledges the SCP Foundation, even if more people don't even know that it exists, we're all heroes. We save the world, we save people. I don't need gratification, I just need to feel like I'm actually doing something here."

"Ah…sorry you got stuck with me then," Clara said.

"Eh. It could be worse."

"How so?"

"You could be a coffee machine," he said.

Clara laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as the two of them entered the cafeteria. None of the others were there, probably off at work already, so Clara and Jack got their breakfast and finished it relatively quickly. At exactly 8:05, Clara stepped back into her unusual routine.

Dr. Hamm was already inside, and glanced up at Clara through his glasses. "Ah, Clara, good to have you back."

"Yes, thank you Dr. Hamm. I appreciate the time off that you gave me," she answered.

"Feeling a bit better after all of that?"

Clara shrugged and forced a smile. "Better is…a strong word."

Dr. Hamm chuckled, never looking up from his papers at her. He was awfully focused in his work today, he had barely met her eyes from the moment she walked in. She took a seat at her desk, the cold steel of her chair seeping into her skin through the flimsy fabric of her skirt and lab coat.

Clara looked down at her files, seeing that SCP-049 was due for another test subject today. She turned to Dr. Hamm. "Would you like me to go ahead and go get The Doctor's subject?"

Dr. Hamm put a hand to his forehead. "Already so eager to leave, hm?" His tight-lipped smile fell away. "No. Today's experiment will be different. There will be no need for you to go fetch the subject."

Before Clara could ask anymore questions, someone knocked at the door. Clara stood up to get it, opening the door to see Bear standing before her. Clara started to smile, but Bear's stern, serious gaze cut off the expression.

"Dr. Hamm. We have the personnel you requested. D-85123, step into the chamber, please. Clara, step back."

A man stepped into the room behind Bear. He wore an orange jumpsuit, with the sequence D-85123 on the back. His hands were cuffed in front of him. He was taller, only barely shorter than Bear. Another guard followed behind him, though it was one Clara did not recognize. The man's eyes swept across the room, taking it all in. His arms were hairy, his neck was thick, and his eyes were hard. When they met Clara's, he smiled. Clara took another step back.

Clara felt bile rise to the back of her throat. She swallowed it down, steadying herself. She focused on the feeling of her feet on the ground, trying to find something to root her to the moment, to keep her from falling over. This couldn't be real. There was no way this was real, there's no way that they would do something like this, knowing what the results would be.

"I think the little girlie is scared o' me," the man said. Clara looked back up at him. A smile stretched across his face, far too wide, far too many teeth, something hungry and eager hiding right underneath the surface.

"D-85123," Bear growled. "What did I say about speaking?"

The man chuckled. His eyes swept across Clara's figure, lingering in all the wrong places, making Clara feel violated, naked. She'd wished she wore pants today instead of a skirt, she wished she'd buttoned her lab coat all the way up, she wished she'd left her hair down to hide her neck. A thousand words were spoken with lustful glances and twitching fingers.

Dr. Hamm moved to the twin doors separating the containment cell from their research room. Clara forced herself to look away from the man and watch Dr. Hamm instead. Showing fear felt like giving him what he wanted, so Clara did her best to steel her gaze away. The alternative wasn't any better though. From the moment she'd stepped back into the room, she'd done her best to look anywhere but there. At him. So instead of looking into the cell, she focused on Dr. Hamm. On Bear's harsh stares. She wished Jack were here. She'd feel safer. She felt safe with Bear, but he was a man of few comforting words. He was a man of few words at all.

Dr. Hamm opened the door, and held it open for D-85123. With one last grin, he finally turned away from Clara with a rough chuckle. "Doc, I'll come help you guys out any time if I get to see the girlie."

Clara steeled up her courage, and shot a glare at the man. When their eyes met again, Clara raised up her chin. The man's smile faltered, but their exchange was cut off as the door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

A human test subject. SCP-049 couldn't be happier. He had been in quite a slump this past week. He'd worked diligently of course, but was rather disappointed when Clara stopped her visits. He had so many questions he needed to ask her. So many things he wanted to say. Dr. Hamm had tried asking him things, but he couldn't be bothered to answer right now, there was so much to do. Perhaps that's what earned him a human test subject. If he had known that playing coy and giving the good doctor the silent treatment would result in a human test subject, he would have done so long ago. He merely chuckled at the thought of him, a man of science, playing hard to get like a school girl. This all was merely coincidence, but it was not one that he would shy away from.

And even Clara had returned. For a moment, he was torn between asking her questions and meeting with the test subject, but of course, his duties always superseded his curiosity. He didn't have to ask Clara questions, yet. There was far too much that he could test first, and these opportunities were so far and few between. He was grateful for the two-way window, allowing him to scan his subject up and down before he entered. Checking for signs of the Pestilence, of course.

Clara was refusing to meet his gaze. Had he upset her? He supposed he had acted quite unprofessional during their last meet. But that was all behind them now, surely the two of them could let bygones be bygones in the name of science. And, clearly, she was a woman of science and scholar. How few of the others had looked over his notes like she had, with knowledge, with understanding, and perhaps, he was able to admit, admiration. He tried not to be prideful, it was such a sinful, indulgent thing, but to take admiration in one's own work, to desire to have others look upon it, why, that was merely a trait of a good doctor. And he wasn't just a good doctor, he was the best. She would come back around, she had to. Maybe even watching him work with the human test subject would-

He paused. Did it lick its lips at her?

He saw the tremble pass through Clara's form, the slightest twitch of her lips, her fingers curling around the hem of her skirt as if to pull it farther down, to cover up her skin.

The exchange didn't last long. Of course not, the other doctors wouldn't allow such a thing. They had ushered the man away from Clara before the tension could even be acknowledged, but he knew. Clara's eyes were focused on the man. Narrowed. He hadn't imagined it, and he hadn't imagined her ferocity either.

The subject disappeared from view for a moment, likely about to enter his chamber, but his eyes didn't leave Clara. She looked to him. She finally looked to him.

He could see that fire in her eyes, that fuel, that anger. Her emotions were a mirror, a portal into his own inner feelings of disgust toward such a creature.

A smile spread across his lips.

Watch closely, Clara, he thought. I'll be sure to give you quite a show.

* * *

It happened quicker than she thought it would. One moment, SCP-049 was asking D-85123 all of the standard questions, as if he were a real Doctor. How was he feeling, had he experienced any particular side effects lately, standard questions that seemed to give no specific inkling as to what SCP-049 could have actually been looking for. D-85123, for his credit, answered the questions standardly and quickly. He was stiff, but given his situation, Clara couldn't blame him for being a little tense.

And then, with the fluidity of a painter composing his magnum opus, the Doctor struck out with a scalpel, slit D-85123's throat, and watched as the body fell to the ground. The man lay there, gurgling, clutching at his throat, while SCP-049 watched.

"He's never done that before," Dr. Hamm muttered to himself, scratching away wildly at the notes at his desk. "He always used his hands before, why a scalpel now?"

D-85123 stilled after a moment, his body twitching before going deathly still. SCP-049 turned to look at Clara. He scanned her face, looked for a reaction, for something, but whether or not he found what he was looking for, Clara wasn't sure.

Clara was sure that she didn't feel bad for the man though. She'd watched his final moments on this earth, she'd watched him die a gruesome, painful death, and she hadn't felt as remorseful as she thought she would. She didn't feel bad either. She knew it would happen the second he walked into the room, that he was being sent to his death. The death penalty for a criminal that, until now, she hadn't realized existed in this place.

"Clara? Clara?"

Clara turned from her thoughts as Dr. Hamm's hand pressed down on her shoulder.

"Clara, are you alright? This is a lot for your first day back, and I understand that it's probably very disturbing and jarring, but-"

"I'm okay," Clara interrupted. "That guy. He was a criminal, right?"

Dr. Hamm nodded. "Arrested on the chargers of homicide, rape, and kidnapping. Sometimes the Foundation gathers these sorts of individuals. Some SCP's need further testing, and sometimes, we need to know the extent of their effect on humans." He raised an eyebrow. "You're taking this much better than I thought you would."

"You saw the way he looked at me. The things that he said. I have little pity for his kind," she said.

Dr. Hamm's lifted his hand from Clara's shoulder and took a step back. "Yes well, that's good I suppose. That's alright. Yes. Well then, um, write up a report of what you saw today, I want your own individual thoughts on what happened and what will follow. A fresh set of eyes."

He sat down at his own desk, waving out the armed escorts, who were looking at SCP-049 with growing animosity and trepidation. Jack still wasn't one of them. Clara wasn't sure if that disappointed her still, or if she was glad he wasn't here to see this. To see her. Taking this so calmly. Maybe she was in shock? She knew about what seeing something traumatizing could do to the brain. Maybe later tonight she'd be bent over her toilet, throwing up whatever she had eaten and heaving until she couldn't breathe. Maybe she'd cry herself to sleep again, or curl up in a corner until she could erase what she had seen from her brain. That's what a normal person would do, right? But Dr. Hamm was normal, and he only seemed mildly perplexed.

Clara sat down at her own desk, deciding to wait on determining her own normality and sanity for another time. She wanted to write down what she had seen, what she had observed, before the reality of the situation really did start to set in. If it would. Maybe she had just finally grown numb to it all, to her situation, to her state of being, to everything. The thought didn't bring her too much comfort.

* * *

"So how did it go?" Jack asked, as he walked her back to her room. He couldn't quite meet her eyes. He saw them bring D-85123 into the cell. He saw them leave alone too.

"How did what go?" Clara asked.

"Today. Your first day back?"

"It was fine," Clara said. "I mean, it wasn't, but I'm doing okay."

"Good. That's, that's good. I was a little nervous on your behalf. I hadn't really had time to talk to you about the D-Class personnel yet. I was afraid how'd you react when you knew," he admitted. "Afraid I'd have to go into another 'for the greater good' spiel. Glad you're taking it well."

Jack stopped outside of her bedroom, turning to look at her. It seemed she was avoiding his gaze, too. Knowing that someone died within a few feet from you could create an awkward atmosphere, he supposed.

"Hey, Clara? Listen, I'm gonna get a break in a few minutes. If you'd like, we can go back to the cafeteria. Or a break room, if you want. There's pool and darts and such," he said.

There was her gaze, finally torn away from her shoes. Her eyes were red or puffy. She really hadn't been crying after all. A little distant, but he couldn't blame her mind for being elsewhere right now.

"Are you sure that's okay? I mean, I thought I didn't get the same privileges as everyone else since I'm not really here under normal circumstances," Clara said.

Jack shrugged, smirking a little bit. "Eh. You'll still be with me. That's fine, right? Lots of people will be there from all over the Foundation, you'll get lost in the crowd. None of the higher ups will be there. You'll be fine, we won't get caught."

"You'll get in trouble though!" Clara said. "I, I don't know if this is a good idea."

"Clara." Jack stopped, lifting his goggles off of his head and placing his hands on her shoulders. "You're going to be here a while. I know that may be hard to handle, but it's true. I'm trying to be friendly, and ask you to go do things that friends do. Now, you can either come with me, and try to make your time here a little less miserable, or you can go back into your room, let what happened today sink into your mind until you start crying again, and wish you would have gone."

Clara blinked up at him in shock, then huffed. "Jack, why do you have to be so annoyingly right?"

Jack laughed. "There we go! C'mon, go change out of your lab coat. I'll be back in just a few minutes."

Jack opened her door, ushering Clara inside and closing it at a moment later. He grinned, and pulled out his PA to message Blue, Tetris, and Bear, but then stopped.

"Don't forget why she's here," Tetris had said.

"Gotta be careful. Foundation's always watching," Bear had said.

"Besides, she's boring and bland as hell." That was Blue.

He put his PA back into his pocket. They were really being too hard on Clara. He didn't want to make things awkward. Clara needed a break. She needed to be reminded that life isn't all bad, not even here, where hell blends into reality behind offices and prison cells.

Jack returned to his room, changing into more causal clothes, though still approved by the Foundation. He kept all of his standard gear, of course. That was just Foundation guidelines. But they were allowed a few leniencies here and there, otherwise nobody would ever sign up for this job. Well, at least, not for his position.

* * *

Back at SCP-049's cell, Dr. Hamm had stayed late, watching SCP-049 work. Watching him turn the former D-85123, a human, into a version of SCP-049-001. Well, he was watching. For whatever reason, SCP-049 had stopped. He'd made quick work this time, quicker than normal. In only a few hours, SCP-049-001 was already showing signs of early animation. By the morning, Dr. Hamm had no doubt it would be walking and groaning, shambling about the room in some strangled, ugly existence. Why was the Doctor creating these things? What purpose did they serve toward finding a cure for the Pestilence, what purpose did they serve at all? It seemed like the more they learned about SCP-049 and the Pestilence he spoke of, the more it seemed so impossible for such a thing to exist at all. Was SCP-049 just delusional? Was he some creature from somewhere else, from some other time, who existed in our world by accident? Maybe the Pestilence existed there, maybe it reared its head with symptoms that were just perceived as normal here. Or maybe he was right, maybe they had all been infected for so long, they had grown immune and unused to its presence. Either way, the incarnate Lazaruses that sprung up from his needles and scalpels were proof of the danger SCP-049 held. The danger that Clara held.

"Good Doctor, do you have a moment?"

Dr. Hamm looked up. SCP-049 stood in front of the window, arms crossed firmly behind his back.

"I'm in need of your assistance."

* * *

 **Hey guys! Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. Good news though, I graduated college! And got a job! Whoohoo!**

 **I'll have a new chapter of The Color of the Cure out February 15th, and it will be the last chapter for about two months while I go on a mini hiatus. Why am I doing this?**

 **Because this next chapter will mark the official halfway point of The Color of the Cure. Think of it as…the end of Season 1. During my hiatus, I will be working to write at least three chapters ahead of when I release them, so that I can post regular chapters every two weeks from then on instead of once a month. Thank you all for your support and criticism. I appreciate all of the feedback, and hope that I can take your comments to improve my writing. Until next time!**

* * *

 **New updated cover photo for The Color of the Cure! I wanted to use art that was mine as opposed to someone else's. Be gentle, I am a writer before an artist lol.**


	7. Chapter 7: Be Still My Heart

Why on earth was Clara worrying about what she was going to wear? This was ridiculous. She was an adult. She should not be worrying about what she was going to wear. She should not be standing in front of her mirror for the fourth time, turning this way and that to see if she liked the way she looked. Jack would be back any minute, and the only thing she had decided was that she wanted to let her hair down for the first time in a while. Keeping her wavy hair up in a bun all the time had more than strained her poor scalp, and letting it down felt like a relief. It looked a bit more on the red side this way too, not so much a dark brown as a reddish, earthy hue.

She didn't have many clothes to choose from. Only a few outfits that she had even unpacked, let alone liked. She hadn't exactly had many opportunities to wear them. That was the reason she was so worried about how she looked. Had to be. She hadn't worn these clothes in a while, so she was just worried about which outfit she wanted to wear after such a long time.

She sighed at herself in the mirror. Yeah. She wasn't fooling anyone. Still, she didn't think she looked too bad. A striped, black and white sweater, blue tank top, and shorts. And tennis shoes. Reallly classy, but it wasn't like they were going to a restaurant. Besides, this was comfortable. The fact that she felt pretty in this outfit was just an added benefit.

Jack knocked on her door, this time without opening it. "Hey, you ready yet?"

"Coming!" Clara called out, and opened the door.

Jack smiled, shoving his hands in jean pockets. "Well lookie there, you do own real people clothes."

"What, do you think I just sleep in my lab coat?" she retorted as Jack closed the door behind her. He laughed.

"Making jokes too! Look at you, being a real person!" Jack led her down the hall and to an elevator, going up a few floors before getting off. "This whole floor is essentially like a breakroom. Not fully, but it doesn't contain any SCPs here. There's a surveillance room in the back of the hall, but even that one is just a backup room for the facility itself and some outer areas, not into rooms or anything. Got bathrooms, a few vending machines, and then the big room over here is everything else."

Clara could hear the shouts and laughter from here, like a college frat house after Friday's big game.

"There'll be a lot of people in there. Lots of noise. Nobody's gonna think twice about you, okay? If they ask, just tell 'em the truth, you're a new researcher. Few people know that you aren't here under normal circumstances," Jack admitted. "So, what they don't know won't kill them. And if the noise gets too loud, I'll take you home. Alright?"

"I've been around people before, Jack," Clara said with a laugh. "I used to be a professor. Hell, I used to live on the coast. I know people."

"Alright, alright, just wanted to let you know," he said, putting his hands up. He opened the door, letting Clara step inside first. The room was big, really big, and filled with a lot of people, certainly more than Clara was expecting. Most of them looked like they were guards or security personnel; big, muscular types who leaned against walls and pillars flashing mischievous grins and the occasional tattoo. Far be they to fall into stereotypes however; for every tattoo wearing brute, there seemed to be another smaller, lithe man or woman who looked even scarier, with eyes that focused on every detail in the room, whose frames drifted between bodies without even being brushed up against.

Honestly, though, Clara couldn't tell who among them was researcher or guard. Just when she thought she'd figured out which person was which, she'd catch a word or phrase as Jack led her along that made her think maybe they were the opposite of what she had thought.

Billiard tables filled most of the space, along with air hockey tables and even a few arcade machines. Some people threw darts, others mingled on faded couches or in close-knit clusters. A few TVs were even mounted in the back, showing sports teams that Clara was vaguely familiar of, though admittedly nobody seemed to invested in them, aside from a rowdy few.

Jack led her to a few open chairs near a less busy billiard table, and Clara took a seat. "Too loud?" he asked, leaning in so she could hear. Was that aftershave she smelled? Something earthy and minty at the same time. He did seem freshly shaven.

"No, this is fine," Clara said back.

He grinned down at her.

"Who are some of these people? Do you know any of them?" she asked.

"They're workers from all over. We all need a break, and it's not exactly easy to leave the site. Let's see if I recognize anybody. Ah, there's Agent Jameson. Paranoid guy, but I think sometimes the Foundation likes that sort of thing, people who can worry about things they haven't even thought of yet. That's Alex over there, feisty one, don't let her size fool you, she's four feet three inches of kick ass and ask questions later. D-Class personnel have learned to fear her. That guy who looks tired and longing for a glass of something alcoholic is Doctor Miller. He trains low-level, entry research personnel on some of the SCPs we have here. Others I vaguely recognize. A few faces here and there. Maybe somebody I've crossed paths with or worked with over the years."

"How many years _have_ you been here, Jack?" Clara asked.

"Four."

"How do people get picked to be here? Do you have to be an exceptional soldier?"

"Pretty much. Some of us are just recruited. We were exception soldiers. We served in wars or platoons or something, I don't know, sometimes a guy just shows up, asking if you want to help your country. And usually, you say yes." Jack shrugged. "The pay is good. You can kinda just disappear here."

"And you haven't moved up the ranks? Even after all this time?"

Jack shrugged. "That's not really how things work around here. I mean, they can, don't get me wrong, but people who get promoted are the people who are exceptional on all fronts. It's not just longevity that's encouraged and rewarded, it's loyalty, intelligence, and, at times, ruthlessness."

"Would you move up, if they asked?"

Jack paused. His mouth twitched downward into a frown. "Maybe. I'm not sure. I used to think so. Sometimes I still do, I guess. But the guys who are in charge of people, they never seem happy. It's hard to explain, but just…well, look around. Not one guy here that I recognize is a higher rank than _maybe_ a squad leader. Even then, those are few and far between. This job isn't easy. Getting put in charge of people isn't easy, because when you're in a position where you can tell people what to do, there's always the possibility that you'll tell them the wrong thing. That something will go wrong, that some moron won't listen or take something seriously, and then boom. They're dead. Or they're mangled up into some shapeless slug, or they're turned into a mindless freak, or a murderous psychopath, or they trigger a containment breech, and no matter what you tell yourself, no matter how many times you tell yourself it wasn't your fault, it was just a mistake, it was something that the enemy did, not you, you never could have seen it coming, you remember their names, their faces, you just think over and over, what could I have said to change this? Could I have stopped this? And you don't know if you feel better if you think you could or couldn't have stopped this, but what you do know is that you always wonder if it should have been you. Some nights you wish it was, and some nights you're relieved it wasn't and you're left sitting alone, feeling guilty of knowing that you're alive and you're glad about it."

Clara stared at him. Somewhere along the lines of his rant, Jack had scrunched up his shoulders, and kept running a hand through his hair and clenching his fist. Over and over. The expression on his face was one Clara could never hope to understand. She didn't want to.

She reached one of her hands over to Jack's. She didn't think words would be useful here. He'd already said a lot, more than she thought he would, more than she wanted. She'd wanted to learn more about him, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't think a little differently about him now. If nothing else, she understood him more.

After a few moments, Jack calmed back down, and leaned back in his chair. "Damn, I need a drink. A beer would be awesome."

"Can't say I really like alcohol," Clara said.

"Goody-two-shoes," Jack snorted.

Clara huffed. "There's nothing wrong with disliking alcohol. I like having my wits about me, thank you. I can have a good time without acting like a fool."

Jack laughed. "Touché. Want a soda?"

"Sure," Clara said. "Nothing with caffeine please!"

"Yeah, yeah, gives you a headache, right?" he asked, rising from his chair. He stuck a hang in his pocket. "Be right back, just stay put."

Clara watched him go, allowing herself to linger in this moment of innocence. She leaned back in her chair, watching people move about from huddle to huddle like flocks of birds. Move to a group. Mingle. Laugh. Make a joke or two. Wave or nod goodbye. Move on to the next group. Repeat. A strange ritual of mutual urgency, to forget, to push aside where they were, what they've seen, what they've done. Clara felt compelled to join them, but she still felt like an outsider, like someone on the edge. She was a survivor, like they were, but she couldn't deny feeling like an SCP herself somedays. They treated her like she was sometimes, and that was just infuriating. After all, she was a doctor, just like they were.

 _Clara._

She stopped. Her body stiffened, like she had been turned to stone. Her eyes swept across the room, scanning eyes, but everything was slow now. Moves blurred, mixing together into swashes of color, and the noises were too loud, all talking over each other. The laughter began to sound like cries, like animals calling out to each from across a jungle of bodies, nothing making sense and everything too much.

 _You don't belong with them, Clara._

Clara stood up from her chair, bumping the back of her leg against the seat and stumbling a bit. Somebody reached out, a girl with black hair and surprisingly gentle eyes. Her lips moved, but it was just more noise, just more useless noise. Clara pushed her aside. She needed, she needed to go, she needed to get out of here.

The girl's hands were on her shoulder now, but Clara pushed them off. "Don't, don't touch me!"

It's Jack that brings Clara out of her panic. It's his hands on her shoulders, pulling her out of the crowd, away from the noise that became too much all at once. It's Jack that's telling her it's alright when every other part of her is screaming that it's not, nothing is alright, and it won't ever be alright. He doesn't know what's wrong, he can think he knows, but he doesn't and she can't tell him because she doesn't know either, all she knows is that suddenly being in a room with them made her feel disgusted, made her feel angry and small and too much all at once. A saint in a room full of sinners, feeling in that moment more than ever that _she didn't belong there._

When Jack pushed a cup of water into her hands, she gulped it down in barely a few breaths, coughing slightly and sucking in more air and ragged breaths. But he was there, and that was okay, that made things better.

"That's it, Clara. Keep breathing. It's alright. Listen, if I would have known you have social anxiety, or would go into a panic attack, I never would have taken you in there-"

Clara shook her head, cutting him off before he could continue, she needed him to be quiet for a moment, she just needed there to not be any noise for just a second, but she couldn't tell him these things. Her own voice refused to budge forth, catching in her throat, in the lump that never seemed to go away anymore.

He seemed to understand what she needed, taking his hands off of her after they had both sank down to the ground, leaning up against the wall. He sat there in silence, letting Clara catch her breath and her thoughts. When Clara finally seemed to have calmed down enough to breath normally, when her shoulders and hands stopped shaking so much, Jack tried again.

"Clara, what happened? Did something happen?"

His voice was gentle and soft, coaxing like you do when you see a scared animal or child. Clara wasn't sure which one she felt more like.

"It got too loud," she tried to say. "Not just in the room, but in my head too. There was just too much noise, and then my thoughts were all over the place, like I couldn't grab onto just one, I couldn't control where they were going or what they were, they were just there and I couldn't push them away. And I thought I heard something else too, something that felt like a thought, but didn't feel like me."

Jack sighed, leaning up against the wall Clara only just know realized they were sitting up against. They were out of the room now, by the bathrooms and back under the constantly buzzing fluorescent lights. The crowd was distant murmurs and muffled voices now, still a lot but not enough to send Clara over the edge. "Damn. I thought this would be good for you. I didn't know that it would do this to you."

His voice sounded like an apology, but Clara couldn't decipher whether or not that's what he meant it to be. She leaned back as well.

"Me too. I didn't know that would happen. Everything was fine up until then. I've been around people before, loads of times. I was even starting to feel like I belonged, like I was one of them, like I'm supposed to be here. And then it was like, it was like a switch went off or something, and suddenly I felt like I wasn't anything like them, that I shouldn't be anything like them, that I didn't belong there. It felt like I was around animals," she said. Clara's eyes watered and she tilted her head up, refusing to cry, not today, not like a baby again.

Jack glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, but said nothing.

"Did you know it's been over twenty days since I've seen the sun?" she said softly. "This place has no windows. No natural light. You could tell me it's three o'clock in the morning, or noon, and I'd have to take your word for it. Maybe that's what set me off too, being in that room. It was just like being back in college, back where I was allowed to not care about anything for a brief moment in time. I could live in the night, kick off my heels, dance around the yard, and not worry about anything until I woke up the next morning. And even then, I'd have the sun. I don't have that now. The distraction was nice, it really was, but this place is a prison, Jack, and every day, I feel more and more like I'm one of the prisoners."

Jack ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. "Yeah. I get that. Guess I shoulda figured that might happen, bringing you there. Or maybe I shouldn't have stepped away. I don't know. Either way, it didn't work. Didn't do what I wanted it to do."

Clara opened her mouth to ask what that was, but before she could, Jack opened his eyes and looked at her. Blue eyes, somewhere between the color of the sky and sea, not quite the light blue or the afternoon sky and not quite the deep green blue of the ocean with its lapping waves, something unique, some color she couldn't quite describe.

"Alright. Take my hand," Jack said, standing up and reaching out for her.

Clara winced. "We don't have to go back to my room yet, I'm sorry I messed this all up, we can go back and try again, I'm better now I think."

Jack stared at her blankly, and Clara trailed off. She bit her bottom lip and grabbed his hand, trying to hide her disappointment.

Jack led her through the halls, not letting go of her hand, not yet, and it was nice to feel his skin on hers for once instead of armored gloves, textured for gripping knives and guns. His hands weren't warm, but they weren't cold either, and just the right amount of roughness that comes with working out of the office, a texture mostly foreign to Clara.

It didn't take Clara long to realize that they weren't heading back to her room. Instead, Jack led her through a hall and to a back door. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was around, then pulled a card out of his pocket. It was a different color from the one he usually carried around, and when he swiped it, the door light turned green. He glanced down at Clara and put a finger to his lips, giving her a smile that was nothing short of mischievous.

"We'll be quick."

It was more of an order than an excuse, but Clara followed him anyway. Immediately, a sharp bite of wind and cold made Clara wince. The cold made her eyes water instantly, and Clara blinked to clear them. Jack, still leading her by the hand, led her further into the cold. After a moment, Clara's eyes cleared, and she looked around. They were on the roof. Small pockets of snow gathered in the corners, and the blank cement roof was empty of all but the two of them and a few haphazard cigarette butts littering the floor.

"It's no sun, but, well, look up," Jack said, his breath pooling out in front of him.

Clara's eyes stretched skyward, and she gasped. Rivers of green danced across the sky, hiding the stars behind emerald limbs of light. They fluttered and danced in the smallest of ways, currents of illuminated wind.

Jack stuck his hands in his pockets, trying not to smile too wide at her dumbstruck expression. "Betcha can't see that on Florida beaches."

"It's beautiful," Clara whispered. "The Northern Lights?"

Jack nodded. "This place is usually just a getaway for a quick smoke. We're not supposed to be up here, and there's no way I'd be able to sneak you up here during the day. People are patrolling out there, they'd see us for sure. But I thought, even though it's cold as hell out here, that maybe you'd like to see something other than steel for a second or two."

Clara didn't mind the cold. She barely felt it, but even what she felt was welcome. She could feel the wind, hear its roar, see snow, see the lights, see something stretch above her further than just a few feet and end in a ceiling and hanging lights. She laughed, she couldn't help it, stretching out her arms to catch more of the wind, feel more of the cold. She wanted to scream as loud as she could, spin in circles, run, sprint, but she'd take the luxury of laughing over nothing.

"The wind is going away from the guards today. Go on, shout! They won't hear you," Jack said with a laugh. As if to prove his point, he cupped his hands around his mouth, the wind to his back, and shouted: "IT'S REALLY COLD UP HERE!"

Clara erupted into laughter, running up beside him. "IT REALLY IS! WHOHOO!"

Jack clutched his sides, laughing to the point that his voice almost cracked. "Is that really the best you can come up with?! Come on, girl, scream, cuss, do something! Let it out!"

"Well, what should I shout?!" Clara asked.

"I don't know, do your worst, whatever you've wanted to say!"

Clara giggled like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. She paused, then grinned.

"I HATE THIS PLACE!"

"Yeah, there you go!" Jack said. "Keep going! Get out your anger, it's no good to keep that bottled in all the time!"

"FUCK THE SCP FOUNDATION!" She shouted, then immediately her eyes widened. Her eyes darted over to Jack, wondering if she'd crossed the line, but he was still grinning and laughing, egging her on.

"I HATE BEING STUCK HERE!"

"ME TOO!" Jack called out.

"I DON'T BELONG HERE!"

"THIS PLACE NEEDS BOOZE!"

"I GOT MY FREAKING PHD AND ENDED UP IN A PRISON!"

"I DID THIS TO BE A HERO AND GOT STUCK GUARDING A HOT RESEARCHER!"

"MY GUARD THINKS I'M HOT AND HE'S CLEARLY AN IDIOT!"

Both of them laughing now, tears not caused by the wind streaming down their cheeks. Clara wiped at her eyes with her sweater, trying to contain her giggles but finding it harder than she thought. Jack, too, was reduced to a puddle of weak giggles and snickers.

"Alright," Clara said, her laughter starting to die down. Her cheeks were red, but she blamed it on the wind. "Let's get back inside, I'm in shorts."

"Oh yeah. Shoot."

Jack led her back in, and the flush of warmth made Clara sigh. Her legs were really, really cold, but it was worth it, every second. She rubbed her arms, teeth still chattering and legs shaking a little.

"Sorry," Jack said, "Guess we got a bit carried away there."

Clara chuckled and looked away, tucking a wind-tossed piece of hair back behind her ear. "It's alright."

They stood there a moment, warming up in the stairway, neither of them making much eye contact, and both of their voices a bit too quiet and sore after screaming.

"Jack," Clara finally said, pulling his gaze down from the ceiling. "Why…why did you bring me out there?"

"Do I need a reason?" he joked.

Clara swallowed. "Yes."

Jack paused, realizing that she was serious. He tried not to look at her too long, finding her gaze to be too much too suddenly. "I guess, it's because I think you're the kind of person who sadness suits too well. I can't think of you without a frown on your face. I don't know. You don't seem like the kind of person who never smiles."

Clara wrapped her arms further around herself. "You don't really know anything about me, though." Her voice got quiet. "It's my fault that somebody's dead, you know. Dr. Ivar. They killed him because of me."

"I know," Jack lied.

"Did you know that I like the beach in the morning? Catching the quiet waves and the peace of the sky before it gets too bright? That I like to draw? That I sing off-key to Patsy Cline and used to dance in socks around my apartment like an idiot, that I cry while watching Toy Story 3 every single time no matter what? Do you know that I've only ever kissed a boy once, in third grade?"

Jack stared at her, silent.

"Did you know all that?" Clara asked. She swallowed again, trying to stop that ever present lump in her throat.

"Geez, Clara, only my grandma listens to Patsy Cline."

"That's your response to all of that?"

"Yeah. Well, that, and that I think it's totally unfair that you got your first kiss before me. Mine wasn't until middle school. Kathy Jane Adams," Jack said with a grin.

Clara rolled her eyes, but smiled. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, still trying to get warm after how cold it was outside. They really should have brought coats or something, but she supposed Jack hadn't been exactly planning to take her out there.

Jack stepped forward, and put his arm around Clara, pulling her close to him. Her eyes widened, but she didn't move. Her head rested on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, a little sporadic, but she supposed hers was probably the same. Jack tucked her into him, rubbing her arms slightly, but with the kind of hesitation of someone who was testing limits, testing boundaries. She had no doubt that if she tensed even a little bit, he would stop. But she didn't. And neither did he.

She wasn't sure if it was Jack, or the heat in her cheeks that finally warmed her up, but after a few moments, Jack stepped back.

"We should head back. It's getting pretty late. You okay to go back?" he asked.

Clara nodded. "Yeah, I'm uh, I think I'm good."

"Good. That's, that's good." Jack cleared his throat. "This way then."

Jack kept walking, leading Clara back into more familiar halls. On the way back, Clara couldn't help but smile. She hadn't pictured Jack to be the nervous type, but suddenly he could barely meet her eyes, and even though they were both in warmer halls, his cheeks were still red from the 'cold,' as he claimed.

Did she have feelings for him? Clara wondered. The thought was ridiculous, but not one she fought to push away. It was nice to have a friend, if nothing else.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"I know. Me too," he said back. They turned the corner to a familiar hall, and Clara paused. They had to pass by SCP-049's room to get back to her own, and she saw a light still on.

"Hey, Jack, I think you can just drop me off here for the night," Clara said.

"What? No way, I'll take you to your room," he said.

"The light is still on, I think Dr. Hamm must be finishing up some notes. I'd like to go in and talk with him a bit about something that's been bothering me."

"What is it? Is everything okay?" Jack asked.

"Hm? Oh yeah, it's fine, it's just something I'd like to add to my notes about today before I forget. He wanted me to take extra detailed notes about my thoughts on the experience, and I think now that I've had more time pass since the events of the day, I've got a clearer head. It won't take long, I know the way back to my room," Clara said.

Jack paused. "I can wait right out here and take you the rest of the way."

"Jack, really, I'm fine. I'll pop in, finish up my notes, say good night to Dr. Hamm, and be on my way," she insisted.

"Aren't you sick of that place though?"

Clara sighed. "Jack. Please. It'll be two seconds. I know the way to my room. You're not even on duty right now!"

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd still feel better if I waited."

Clara raised an eyebrow at him, and Jack sighed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Alright, alright, fine, fine, you can handle yourself." He started off, but then paused, turning to face her. "Hey, Clara?"

"Hm?" she said, pausing outside of the door.

Jack stopped. He studied her. Studied her face, her eyes, her cheeks, the happiness on her features that wasn't there before, the life that a small taste of freedom brought. He could see it, she was hopeful again, hopeful that maybe this place wasn't all bad, and while he'd like to chalk it up to his idea of the lights, he had a feeling it was something more, something that both of them felt, but were still too scared to admit. Something that Jack was still really, really scared to admit. It was stupid. It was damning. It could get him fired or demoted, or worse, and yet here he was, lingering in the halls trying to think of what to say, just to spend a few more moments with her.

"Smiling suits you better," he said.

It earned him one. A smile, that is, and he tucked away the sight of it before he turned to leave, turned to give her a few minutes to herself. Let her pretend that she was allowed to walk around by herself, that she was a researcher here and not a prisoner. He couldn't bring himself to break her fantasy now, after spending half the night trying to convince her that she was normal. And, if he was being honest, he'd rather leave now before he had the chance to make a fool of himself in front of her, screw things up somehow, ruin what was otherwise a pretty pleasant end to the evening. Jack stuck his hands in his pockets again, listening to the sound of his footsteps echo down the chambers, trying to wipe his own stupid smile off of his face, to ignore the way his heart felt, and to ignore the ever tightening feeling in his chest that he thought was just a result of the evening, and not an animalistic instinct telling him that everything was about to go terribly, horribly wrong.

Clara knocked softly on the door and twisted it open. "Dr. Hamm, it's me, Clara, I've come by to add a few more things to my notes if that's alright."

No answer.

Clara stepped inside. "Dr. Hamm? Dr. Hamm, are you in here?" Clara looked around, but she couldn't see any sign of him. His notes were on his desk, clearly not put up for the day. Even his coat was hanging in the corner. Maybe he had stepped out to the restroom, Clara thought. She didn't really want to stay in here alone. Not with SCP-049 lingering just on the other side of the glass that she couldn't bring her eyes to look to, so she looked instead to the wall, to her desk, to the door-

The door to SCP-049's cell was open. Not fully. Just a crack. Just enough.

"Hello, Clara."

Clara spun around, feet moving to run, but the door to leave was already closed, closing as the Doctor himself shut it, gloved fingers twisting around the handle and sealing her in. He was here. He was here, in the room, holding a folder in his other hand, back straight, eyes forward, a teacher looking disapprovingly at his pupil. Clara backed up, her voice catching in her throat, something between words and a scream but only ending in a choked, strangled noise. She stumbled backwards, tripping over Dr. Hamm's chair. Her arms flew out to catch her from falling back, smacking against the glass.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The new ones are usually quite aggressive," he said calmly, taking another step toward her.

Immediately, the glass thundered against Clara's fingertips, and she turned to see a creature made of flesh and bone and muscle and blood slam itself against it, leaning its face into her hand. Its jaw hung open, revealing molars and teeth that were yellowed by age or lack of brushing, the kind of teeth that are only for chewing. Its breath fogged the glass, milky eyes locked onto her and twitching. What was left of its hair clung in misshapen clumps to its scalp. Its skin that wasn't torn open and exposed was stretched too tight, revealing every vein, every muscle, every awful deformation.

"Dr. Hamm," Clara squeaked. "Oh God…oh God, Dr. Hamm, he…"

"Was infected. It was…regrettable. It is always regrettable when a fellow man of science dies, and especially so when one succumbs to such a despicable thing as the Pestilence. I'm sure he would be honored to know that I could at least cure him of such a thing. I hope that brings him peace."

Clara whined, moving back away from the glass with legs that refused to support her. It was true. The man that used to be Dr. Hamm was staring at her now, face twisted open in a guttural jeer. She wouldn't have recognized him, if he wasn't still wearing torn slivers of his lab coat. He was hardly a man at all, anymore. She couldn't tear her eyes away from all the wrong things, the chest that was cut open and still freshly bleeding, the way she saw things on his skin pulse and move like organs, all in the wrong places, the involuntary twitches of his head and mouth that made it look like he was screaming, constantly screaming without a sound. A second figure stood in the corner, bigger than the first, scratching its fingers against the wall again and again, leaving red marks and bloody stumps as the skin peeled away to muscle and bone, and still it kept scratching.

Finally, Clara felt a scream rising in her throat, bubbling out of her lips, but before it could get louder than a wail, SCP-049 stepped in front of her. Clara felt her mouth clamp shut, reducing her voice to nothing but whimpers as she kept backing up. Flashes of her own form filled her mind, a muddied, useless monster like Dr. Hamm and the other person, a well of flesh and bone. She imagined SCP-049 cutting into her flesh, digging out her organs and mixing them up, sprawling her out on his table and cutting off anything that made her a human and making her something else. She imagined herself as the goat, the first memory of his horrid attempts at playing God, banging her head against the wall, or her mouth caught open in a tormented scream, or her hands digging away to nubs at the wall. All of this passed before her eyes instead of her life, like some cruel joke, some sudden omnipotence at all that was to come.

SCP-049 kneeled down to face her at eye level. This was the closest they had ever been. He reached out slowly, his gloved fingers inching toward her neck, and Clara could do nothing but close her eyes. She felt his gloved hand, warm like skin, wrap around her neck, and waited to die.

Instead, it lingered a moment longer, not tightening its grip, just the smallest and deadliest of touches, and then pulled away.

"Just as I thought," SCP-049 said. "It would not affect you. Of course it wouldn't."

Clara blinked, raising a hand to her neck where his hand once was. "You, you didn't kill me," she squeaked.

"Not for lack of trying," he said with a chuckle, and stood. He tossed her the folder in his hand, and it landed in her lap with a thump. "Care to have a read, Clara?"

Clara didn't look down at it, didn't dare pull her eyes away from him. Her hands were shaking so much, she wasn't even sure if she could lift it up if she wanted to. He tilted his head ever so slightly.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Clearly, or I would have done so just a moment ago. I have no need to kill a fellow colleague."

"Was Dr. Hamm a fellow colleague too?" she whispered.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "He was. You still are. Perhaps you should be grateful for that, and look at what I'm showing you. This was in Dr. Hamm's desk, in the locked drawer. Take a moment to set aside your irrational fear for me, and read it." He smiled. "I think you'll find its contents fascinating."

He waited expectedly, and Clara quickly understood that he had no intention of letting her go, of letting her do anything else until she read it. The longer she waited, the more impatient he seemed to get, his foot tapping or his arms crossing. In the corner, the two moaning figures continued to pace back and forth and look at her just as expectedly.

Clara looked down at the folder marked with her name, and began to read.

 **Item #:** SCP-049-B-1

 **Object Class:** Euclid

 **Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-049-B-1 is currently considered docile and contained after being separated from SCP-049-B ( _See Addendum 049.B.1.1_ ) and through the use of Class F amnesties. SCP-049-B-1 is contained within a Standard Secure Humanoid Containment Cell in Research Sector-02 at Site-19. SCP-049-B-1 is under the constant delusion that it is a normal, human girl working for the SCP Foundation. The delusion must be maintained at all cost. Therefore, SCP-049-B-1 is allowed general free roam of the facilities, though an assigned armed guard will escort her around the premises at all times.

SCP-049-B-1 is to remain away from Sector 5 of Site-19 at all times to prevent accidental contact with SCP-049-B. During the day, SCP-049-B-1 is to remain under the watch of Dr. Raymond Hamm in the study of SCP-049, and through monitored watch of Dr. Ivar and Dr. Hollaway.

 **Description:** SCP-049-B-1 is a humanoid entity, female, approximately 1.7 meters in height, weighing approximately 52 kg, with brown hair, freckles, and of Caucasian decent. Due to the nature of SCP-049-B-1's containment, she is to be designated the name "Clara," and both answers to and responds to the name as such. SCP-049-B-1 seems to contain a normal skeletal structure, confirmed through the use of X-rays. SCP-049-B-1 is capable of complex speech, and prefers English.

SCP-049-B-1 appears to be of the same species as SCP-049 prior to the removal of SCP-049-B. Through the removal of SCP-049-B, SCP-049-B-1 has resulted back to a humanoid appearance and demeanor. Prior to the removal of SCP-049-B, SCP-049-B-1 followed similar mannerisms as SCP-049, bearing the appearance of a medieval plague doctor wearing thick robes and the ceramic mask indicative of that profession. SCP-049-B-1 aggressively targets those affected with the "Pestilence" and will attack through the use of physical contact, resulting in a simultaneous shutdown of all internal organs. Note: this effect seems to have been nullified from SCP-049-B-1 with the removal of SCP-049-B. Direct physical contact is still not advised for precautionary measures.

Further research is ongoing into the continued affects of SCP-049-B-1 after the removal of SCP-049-B. Dr. Ivar has requested an attempt at the removal of SCP-049-A. Request denied ( _See Addendum 049.B.1.2_ ).

Before Clara could turn the page, the sirens began, echoing wails throughout the empty halls. SCP-049 straightened. "Ah. It looks like it's begun. Right on time." He looked down at Clara, studying her blank expression. It wasn't what he was expecting. She seemed frozen, perhaps in shock, fingers gripping the edges of the folder weakly, as if the whole thing may slip through her fingers and spill out across the floor.

"This isn't real," she whispered. Her eyes were wide, and her lip quivered. "It's not real. It can't be."

Inside the cell, the creatures howled with the sirens, banging on the glass and leaving bloody smudges of filth and fluid. SCP-049 glanced over at them with a flicker of annoyance. He flicked his wrist, and the two barreled out of the cell door and smashed through the door separating this room from the rest of the facility. With another screech, they were gone.

Clara wrapped her hands around her head, her breathing coming in and out in shaky rasps. She squeezed her eyes shut, sobbed cries coming out of her chest, she tried to calm down, tried to focus on breathing, tried to ignore the sirens and the guttural roars and the screams that were hers, definitely hers now in her own ears.

A shadow passed over her, and Clara opened her eyes to find SCP-049 kneeling down again. He outstretched a gloved hand for her to grab, a gloved hand that she was still so scared of, but now the fear lay in what it couldn't do as opposed to what it could.

"Come now, Clara. There is much we have to discuss, and you'll need a guide through this awful place." She locked eyes with his, that sickly green, of moss and algae, and she could have sworn his eyes were alive with glee.

"There are monsters about."

* * *

 **And that, my friends, marks the end of Part 1: Quarantined. This chapter turned out super long, but there was a lot that needed to happen before I was ready to end it. For those wondering, yes, this is the same timeline and events as the game (though it won't follow the game exactly; in fact, there will probably be very few similarities aside from SCPs to look forward to meeting). Also, I know that technically SCP-049 usually takes a week or so to create instances of SCP-049-1, but this fit into my series of events a bit more, so please forgive my minor inconsistency.**

 **The rest of the series will be considerably darker. Seriously, this is where the M rating is going to come into play. You've been warned.**

 **Shout out to Great Escadon, my wonderful reviewer who left me some awesome feedback (and also this chapter is coming out on their birthday (or the day before depending on your time zone, I'll be posting it a few hours before midnight), so Happy Birthday!)**

 **Thanks for coming with me this far, and I hope you're excited to see where Clara and Jack go next!**


	8. Chapter 8: The Doors that Close

There were procedures. Rules. Protocols to follow. Most knew what to do. Men and women came tumbling out of the barracks, stumbling over one another and into their gear. Confused, afraid. But not in total panic. As terrible as they were, breaches were not uncommon. Not in this place. It was inevitable when dealing with monsters and creatures that could bend the universe to their will, who were indestructible beings that in another time, another place, were likely called gods. Maybe they were.

No. The panic came with the screams. The panic came when voices over intercoms and walkie-talkies cut out to static or gargles or the sound of cracking. Lights flickered on and off with no sense of order or purpose, and every time they flickered to black, they were left wondering for the brief second if they would come back on at all. The few backup emergency lights kicked on, but even they faltered. Sirens blared through every corridor, echoing wails of chaos, screaming out that no matter where they went, nowhere was safe anymore. The worst was the rumbling. The dust that sprayed down from the ceiling into hair and helmets, the earth that seemed to shake with the kind of uniformity that made it impossible for it to be something like an earthquake. A few, weak voices claimed they heard a roar or two mixed in. They were ignored, or met with agreeable silence. There was enough semblance to know that whatever this was, this was bad. This was the worst they had ever had. Then the panic started. People running and scrambling toward the shelters that were glorified hiding places against some of the creatures that resided in the walls. Because, in truth, there was little they could do when the doors refused to close.

Hollaway bellowed out to the largest group from an upper walkway, head of security at his side. He shouted orders and half-baked explanations. No. They didn't know the extent of the problem. Twelve SCPs were already confirmed to be loose. Most of them Euclid. At least two Keter. His orders were a lifeline, and guards and personnel finally fell into a sense of order with someone there to tell them what to do. Jack fell into these even lines, these groups of people tasked with getting out, securing as many SCPs as they could. Their orders were clear:

Kill any D-Class Personnel on sight. They were too much of a liability right now, too inconsistent for their way of organization and control. A variable they couldn't form a hypothesis with. Any SCPs were to be dealt with per standard protocol. Years of training spilled about in Jack's head like a chaotic blur. He tried to grab onto meaning, onto understanding what he was supposed to do when faced with each creature. He could handle one, but the possibility of being faced with more than one at once felt overwhelming. More than twelve were out? How the hell does that even happen? If Dr. Hollaway knew, he wasn't saying. He remained as firm as ever, pointing in directions and ordering containment protocols. The site was not to be abandoned or evacuated, not yet. That meant that there was still hope, or they would have dropped a bomb on this place already. Work outward. Secure small areas at first and spread out to more. This place was a maze on purpose. There wasn't any threat of the SCPs getting out, not yet.

Jack gasped for air, not realizing he'd been holding it in.

Shit. He was scared. This was real. This was all too much. He was back to his first day on the field, surrounded by screaming and shouting, gunfire and bombs, spraying dust and blood and-

"Hey."

Blue.

A familiar hand on his shoulder, a firm but gentle weight that dragged him out of his own murky thoughts. "Earth to G.I. Jack. Focus."

He turned to look at her. She nodded at him from behind her mask.

"We're okay."

Jack swallowed and nodded. Damn. Look at him, acting like a rookie. Letting his nerves get the best of him. Stupid. Pathetic. He'd been through worse. This wasn't the time to think on the past or wonder about what-ifs. To wonder about _her_. He couldn't. She was fine. She was with Dr. Hamm. Right now, he needed to focus on what was right in front of him. One mission at a time.

"Remember," Hollaway barked, drawing back his attention. "Containment is the number one priority. Above all else. If it moves, and it's not one of us, you kill first and ask questions later. Trust nothing in this place except what you've trained for. Remember what you've learned, and you can make it through this. Now, go!"

Squads saluted, and broke the mass, working in bits and smaller formations, spreading out to different areas.

Above them on the overhand, Hollaway watched as they walked away. He gripped his hands together tight enough his knuckles turned white. His brought them forward, opening them to look at them shake. Sweaty. Wordlessly, he dried them on his coat, and turned to leave.

"God help us," he whispered under his breath.

* * *

The halls were darker than Clara expected. She thought that when a breach happened, emergency lights would kick on, illuminating even the smallest corner of every room. Instead, the halls were cloaked in darkness. The Doctor drifted through them with ease, fading in and out of shadows with a sense of familiarity at their presence. This was his state. His element. Clara's white lab coat that she'd tied around her waist was a start contrast, but it still felt better than her casual clothes. She'd grabbed it from the room before they left. She wasn't sure why. To rip it apart for bandages maybe? Either way, she had it now, secured tightly like a lifeline around her, a beacon as she followed SCP-049 without a word.

She was going to run. Planned on it, started to the second the door opened, to run away from this madness, these lies, from _him_ , but the second she stepped out the door, what remained of Dr. Hamm waited for her.

"Extra protection," The Doctor had assured her. "Just in case. Don't worry, they'll do as I say."

So now here she was. Following behind a mad scientist of a monster with one of his creations constantly creeping behind them like a loyal watchdog. A constant reminder of who the real monster was.

"You're quieter than I was expecting," he said. "I thought you'd have more questions for me, considering these recent revelations."

"It's not true," Clara said, hating the crack in her voice. "It's a lie."

"Denial. Normal for a human, I suppose. But you're not really a human, are you?"

"I am," Clara said firmly. "I'm not…I'm not like-"

"Me?" he chuckled. "Well, there's no one quite like me. I am a remarkable doctor after all. But we are the same, Clara. You can deny it all you'd like. But my touch kills any living thing that is not the same as I."

"So there's more of you? More of…your kind?"

The Doctor sighed, seemingly irritated. "I told you. There are no others like me. But one who shares my characteristics? I suppose that could exist."

"You don't know for sure?"

His fist, crossed firmly behind his back, tightened. "I believe these scientists," he said, spitting the last word. "Have blocked part of my memories. There are things that are…foggy, to me. Whether or not they caused it remains to be seen, but I intend to unravel this mystery before I leave this infernal place. You, Clara, are quite obviously a piece of that mystery. So you will remain here, with me, until we understand the truth together. Quite exciting, isn't it? The thrill of discovery?"

"Exciting isn't the word I would use," she said softly, stealing another glance back at Dr. Hamm. Calling him anything else felt wrong, but admitting that this beast could be her mentor made her stomach hurt. She tried not to look at him for too long, tried not to let her eyes linger on his pulsing form or milky eyes. And God, the stench. Like rotting meat, sulfur, something else too that made her want to gag. It was awful, and the monster followed along after them, only pausing to occasionally bang it's head against the wall or look down a far-stretching hallway, peering into the darkness.

Clara turned back around, screeching to a halt before she could run face-first into the back of the Doctor. He paused, glancing between two hallways at a crossroads. She could hear him hum in thought, click his tongue under his breath as he looked from left to right.

"Where exactly are we going?" Clara asked.

"To find the men responsible for this."

"Okay. But where? You don't actually know where we're going, do you?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed down at her. She gulped.

"No. I suppose the exact location is unknown to me. Memorizing these halls is infuriating, and when I was transferred from room to room, they held my neck so tightly that it was hard to gather my bearings," he said. "What about you? Do you know the way around this place?"

"No," Clara lied. "Only back to my room or so, and even then, we've traveled to areas I've never been to before, so I'm just as lost as you." Another lie. She knew right where they were. She knew that if they went down the right hallway, they'd reach the cafeteria. The left hallway she hadn't been down too many times before, but she was pretty sure it might lead to an elevator.

Wordlessly, SCP-049 turned down the left hallway. More shadows awaited them, though Clara thought she could hear an intercom in the distance barking orders. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard warnings and protocols, code words that she hadn't been trained for. Or maybe she had, in some packet she'd tossed aside in those early days when she couldn't be bothered to care about where she was or what would happen to her.

She really wished Jack were here. She wished she hadn't turned him away, or stopped to check on Dr. Hamm. If she were with him, she'd feel safe. Well, safer. Maybe he'd take her to some special bunker, some special room that was protected from all of these creatures. Even if there wasn't a place like that, she still would have felt better having him around.

But...maybe that isn't how it would have gone. Maybe the second the sirens went off, Jack would have turned his gun on her. Maybe it was all an act after all, and he would have looked at her like he looked at any other monster, cold, uncaring, would have backed her up against the wall and pointed his gun at her head, squeezing the trigger and-

They turned through the left hallway, and were immediately met with three men in orange jumpsuits. D-Class personnel. Clara gasped. Oh God.

The Doctor snapped, and Dr. Hamm tore towards them with a roar. The three men screamed, sprinting away from the monster and splitting off into different directions. One of them pressed back against the wall, eyes wide in terror. He muttered curse words under his breath as one of his friends was ripped apart in front of him. Clawed fingers dug into flesh, ripping open skin. The man in front of Dr. Hamm's mouth gaped open in horror, gurgling in meager protest as he fell to the ground. Dr. Hamm continued to tear into him. Blood spurted out of his back, splattering across the wall and the face of the second man, who was petrified at the sight.

The Doctor walked forward toward the man still pressed against the wall. The man turned to him and started flailing. "Stay away from me! Get away! Stay away!" he shrieked.

"Poor lost sheep," SCP-049 murmured. "Do not be afraid. I am your cure." He reached out, touching the man on the shoulder. Immediately, the man's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over, shriek dying on his half-open lips.

Dead.

The Doctor chuckled, reaching into his bag for his tools. "I hope you don't mind a slight detour, Clara. I am a doctor first after all, and just can't resist the opportunity to learn more about the Great Pestilence, and how it manages to effect so many. If you'd like to assist, you can...Clara?" The Doctor turned, and scowled. Damn that insufferable girl.

* * *

Clara had never run so fast in her entire life. She knew she'd only have one chance. The second Dr. Hamm lunged at the D-Class personnel, she knew her only chance to run away was now or never. In the chaos, he might not even hear her footsteps echo down the halls. She sprinted back down the hall and to the right, heading toward the cafeteria, the only familiar landmark. Maybe after that she'd head back to her room, or try to remember the path Jack had taken her down to get the break room because surely there had to be people there, people that could protect her. She was just another researcher, after all. She wasn't a monster, she wasn't like those other things! She just had to keep running, had to keep moving, no matter what. She turned the corner, realizing that this wasn't the cafeteria, she really was lost, but her legs wouldn't stop, even for a moment to help her gather her bearings. They just kept pressing on, kept running from the death that insisted she stay by his side. No. Anything else was better than seeing the broken remains of Dr. Hamm and the cold Doctor's eyes. She just had to keep running.

But she couldn't keep running forever, and eventually, after Clara was good and truly lost, but confident that she was far away from the Doctor, she collapsed against the wall, sucking in gulps of air. Her lungs burned and her sides hurt. She thought briefly how she wished she really had taken up gym, or track, or something in college as an extracurricular. Even a gym membership would have been nice, something to prepare her for the life of death situation she was in now, where even running just a short distance left her out of breath and wheezing for whatever air she could get.

The walls were cool against her back, and for once she was grateful. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Strands of hair stuck to her face, but she didn't have any hair ties to keep it up away now.

After taking a few minutes to catch her breath and try to calm her frantically beating heart, Clara stood back up and looked around. She was in the corner of a long hallway. There were three doors, not including the most recent one she came from: one at the end of a hall, and two on either side of the hallway to her right and left. She walked over to the doors hesitantly, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that they were still closed. A sign hung in front of one of them. SCP-178: Euclid. A pair of 3D glasses was one of the pictures. Definitely staying away from that room. She read that file and couldn't sleep the night after. The other door was blank, and Clara cautiously peered inside. A storage room. Maybe they had emergency supplies she could use.

After double checking that the room was clear of any monsters, she stepped inside and looked around. Most of the shelves were already picked clean. A few loose documents. A computer against the back wall. A flashlight. And, as if it were some sort of sacred beacon, a communication radio. Clara practically ran to it, flicking it on and madly moving through channels. One was just annoyingly chipper elevator music, most were static, one was just a loud alarm blaring over and over again, as if she hadn't already known there was an emergency going on. Some were garbled voices, shouting commands through the static that Clara couldn't make out. She kept flicking through channels.

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

Clara's eyes widened. She pressed the button the side. "Hello? Hello, yes, yes I can hear you!"

"Hello?! Oh god, finally, someone answered! Listen, it's coming back, I need someone who can...and I...need to..."

"You're breaking up, hello? Hello?" Clara's voice cracked. "Please, I'm all alone, wherever you are, please, I'm lost, I-I'm just a researcher!"

"I-It's coming back, it's coming, no! No, no stay back! Stay back you freak!"

She heard laughter, something that sounded like it was slugging through muck or water.

"Run, run away!" Clara shouted into the radio. "Just run!"

She heard fast footsteps and panicked breaths, in out, in out, running and sobs. After a few moments, the person spoke again through choked breaths.

"I think...yeah, I think I may have lost it for now...you said you're a researcher. Like me then. Fuck, we're both screwed..."

"What's going on?" Clara said. "What is happening?"

"What the hell do you think is happening? It's a breach! And a bad one too! None of the doors are working, they're opening and closing at random, cutting people off sometimes or opening for SCPs to come out and do whatever they please. Damn it...DAMN IT!" She heard a banging sound, like a thud. "Where the hell are all the guards in this place?!"

"I-"

"Listen," the voice snapped back at her. "I don't have time to sit around and talk with you. I'm checking the other stations for someone who can actually help me. If you want some advice, just try to get out of here. I don't know what area you work in, but if you don't have a good enough key card, you won't get far. Get a key card, get a weapon of some sort, and get the hell out of here. That's all I can tell you. And if you see the man who walks through walls, who walks with puddles, don't try to fight. Just run." There was a click, and then just silence.

Clara swallowed, and put the radio back down on the table. She stared at it, weighing whether or not she should bring it with her. Whether it was worth it. Communication was good, but if all she was going to get were other people like her, people who were scared and looking for help, it didn't seem worth it. She tried to process everything that he said before he left. Doors opening and closing at will, a total breach of security. She knew some of the things this place held. All different types of death, walking about in ways she could only imagine, and they were all loose, all with different purposes and desires that resulted in people dying or being twisted and mutated into god-knows-what. This place was a carefully guarded hell, and the gatekeepers were nowhere to be seen.

Deciding it was better than just leaving it behind, Clara turned the radio off and clipped it to her shorts. There was always the chance she might get through to somebody who could help her, and she was smart enough to know that leaving something like this behind was just stupid. She also gathered what little documents about SCPs she could find lying around, folding them and stuffing them into her pockets. Another thing that might prove useful. While she wasn't sure she would run into any of the SCPs listed on the documents, there was always the chance that the information on these pieces of paper could save her life. She couldn't dismiss that.

Her own documents remained tucked away in her back pocket. She wasn't ready to get those out to read more of them. Not yet. It wouldn't do her any good right now, and she didn't want to have the weight of their words distracting her.

Some part of Clara wondered if all of this was some sort of delayed "survival" instinct that was kicking in. There were thousands of piles of research documenting how people react when faced with strenuous life-or-death situations, and what their reactions say about humanity, society, mentality, the list went on forever. If she ever got out of this place, she'd have a few documents she'd like to write up herself. She could see the titles now:

"My Experience with Monsters"

"The Things Science Doesn't Explain."

"Life Sucks and We're All Gonna Die."

Clara shook her head, looked around the room, and decided to move on. She had her basic key card, but it only got her into her room and Dr. Hamm's lab. Maybe a few other basic rooms. She thought that was standard, only her escort would need a higher key card, since he went everywhere with her. But no, that was probably another characteristic of her supposedly being one of the monsters contained in this place. Of course they wouldn't give her full access, they'd barely give her access at all. Maybe she'd stumble upon another key card, but for now, she was going to have to make do with what she had. Maybe the spontaneous doors would open in her favor.

Clara took a deep breath. In. Out. She counted to ten. Twenty. Thirty. Then stepped out of the storage room.

* * *

Jack was grateful that he had Blue in his squad. Tetris and Bear were with others (he hoped), but one friendly face was enough to keep him grounded and focused. So many people came in and out of this place that it was hard to get attached. He thought that maybe the SCP Foundation did that on purpose, keep people from getting too connected and emotional or whatever, but having someone he knew and trusted run beside him gave him strength. Their group was small, four people, but they were each trained. With such a big breach, the Foundation couldn't afford to send groups any bigger than this. There was a lot of ground to cover, and while there was usually strength in numbers, there was an intelligence behind smaller groups. Losing a smaller group wouldn't make too much of a difference, especially if that group could contain one or two SCPs here and there. They had to spread out and keep things going, and if they met up with other groups, they were to stick together and grow their numbers. Bigger and bigger, containing more threats and hopefully by the end, the whole group would reunite, contain each SCP in the facility, and figure out what the hell happened to start this mess in the first place.

That was the plan, anyway.

"Oh God, what the fuck is that?" Blue said, stopping in her tracks. Across the room, a man covered in shadows stood over a researcher cowering in the corner. The researcher's scream was cut off as the shadowy figure reached out and slammed it's fist into him. He let out a choked noise as the monster grabbed the researcher's arm. Skin rotted and decayed as if covered in rust, skin melting to blood, to muscle, to bone. More agonized screams and sobs. The creature reached out again, and this time the man vanished, his scream dying in the air, and the figure turned to them. It smiled, grin stretching from ear to ear. An old man with decomposing and dead skin falling off of him in pieces. It looked burnt, like it had been caught in some sort of fire it had started of its own volition. It grinned at them some more, teeth that were ragged and twisted.

"SCP-106," Blue whispered. "Oh God, oh God, it's out, it got out."

One of their men started firing at SCP-106, bullets sinking into its skin. It stumbled for a moment, but only seemed to grin wider as it started moving toward them.

"Bullets won't work," Blue shouted. "Save your ammo!"

"H-How the hell are we supposed to contain this thing?! I thought it was secure!" the final member, a woman, shouted out.

"It can walk through walls," Jack answered. "We have to check up on this thing's cells daily. Blue, light stops it, right?"

"Yeah, TOTAL light," she answered, taking a few steps back. "We're not equipped to stop something like this! The only way to get it back in containment is..." She swallowed. "We take a D-Class. Break, break their leg or something, toss them in it's cell, and broadcast the screams to lure it back. We obviously don't have that option right now."

"Then what do we do?!"

Her eyes wavered, shifting back and forth. Her hands shook, reaching for her gun, her flashlight, then back to her gun.

"Run, split up, spread out!" Jack shouted, darting to the right of the SCP and firing a few shots. It paused, and turned its gaze to Jack, tilting its head. "For now, we just have to get away from this thing!"

"He's right, let's go, move, move!" Blue ordered, and the three darted through the door behind SCP-106. Jack kept backing up, making sure to keep out of arm's reach, but for an old man, SCP-106 was surprisingly agile, reaching out and narrowly missing grabbing him more than once. The floor where SCP-106 stepped rusted away, tiles cracked and broke, bubbling at it's feet and decaying away. Firing shots barely seemed to phase it, and Jack wondered if the bullets were disintegrating and rusting away the second they touched him. Or maybe they were going wherever the people disappeared to, some pocket dimension that Jack remembered being briefed on. They were briefed on all Keter-class SCPs that were in the facility. At least, he thought they were.

Once the other three were out, Jack darted for the door. He heard SCP-106 make a hissing noise from behind him, way too close behind him, but he kept running. Almost there, just a few more feet until he reached the door.

With an electronic whirr and buzz, the door slammed shut in front of him. Jack's eyes widened, and he slammed into the door, banging it over and over again. He fumbled for his key card. Blue's eyes widened on the other side of the door, running back for him.

Jack heard another hiss, and he turned around. SCP-106 was inches from him. So close, he could count his jagged teeth, more than normal for any human to have, stretching from ear to ear behind cracked and rotted lips. What he thought were burn marks was some sort of fungus, something writhing and sticking to SCP-106, slowly eating away at him day after day. It reached out, and Jack froze.

Damn. This wasn't exactly how he wanted to die. He'd always imagined it'd be one of two ways. He'd grow old, get married, be surrounded by loved ones maybe, but be content with the fact that he had lived a good life, he had saved some people, and had helped keep these dangerous monsters under control a little while longer. He could die happy. Or, he figured he'd die saving someone, go out in a blaze of glory, be retold years and years later as some sort of divine hero. And yeah, he'd saved Blue and the others. But here he was, in front of some monster who wouldn't even kill him quickly, and he felt like crying. This wasn't brave, or heroic. But this was real. He'd be grabbed by this abomination, shoved into some horrible universe where all he could do was scramble around, frantically try to find an exit, or wait to die while he heard that thing's laughs echo around him. Nothing ended with his survival, and either option of death seemed painful at best and excruciating and torturous at worst, until he begged to finally die.

Clara. His thoughts turned to her. Would she make it out? Would the Foundation let her out? He should be with her right now, instead of here. Protecting her. He never got to tell her the truth. About who she was. How she fit into all of this. Maybe it was better that she didn't know. Maybe she'd get out of here. If she didn't, maybe it was better that she died never knowing what she really was. Never knowing that Jack was a liar. So many times he'd lied to her. Even her name was a lie, but a lie he spoke often, a lie he had allowed himself to believe in. If he saw her again, if he somehow made it out of this, he'd tell her everything. A coward's promise, he told himself. Of course he'd swear to be honest only when he's inches away from death.

A click and whirr of wind, and Jack was falling backwards as the door opened again. Blue grabbed him underneath his arms and pulled him backwards before the door flung shut again in SCP-106's face. Blue was breathing heavily, and she dropped Jack roughly. "Get up," she ordered. "Come on, you're still alive, and that won't hold him for long," she said, looking to the door as black puddles oozed out of the center of it.

Jack scrambled to his feet, still a bit dazed. He wasn't dead? He thought for sure he'd be dead. Why did the door open again?

Blue looked up at him angrily. "What the hell were you thinking? Sealing yourself in the room like that and closing the door!"

"I-I didn't," Jack sputtered. "It closed all on it's own!"

Blue froze. "That's impossible. The doors don't do that. We opened it, they're supposed to stay open until we close them again."

"This one didn't," Jack said. "It closed, right in front of my face, as if it knew I was there, and it wanted me to die with that, that thing."

She swallowed. Looked back toward the growing puddle and sounds of hisses. "We don't have time to think about this right now. If the doors are really acting up, that's something we can think about later. For now, we need to keep running to get away from this thing. My key card opened the door back up, so even if they shut on their own, I don't think they'll keep us locked out entirely." She turned to look back, but the two other soldiers were gone, already running ahead. "You have to keep your head in the game, Jack. You've got more experience than I do, but you're acting like a rookie. Focus, Jack. Please. I can't do this alone," she muttered.

Jack paused, but the sound of creaking metal pushed him forward. Soon, he and Blue were running down the halls again. Their other two squad members were nowhere to be seen, but he was alive. He was alive, and for now, that was more than he could ever ask for.

* * *

 **Phew! It's good to be back! Originally I was going to release this April 20th, but that's actually my birthday weekend and I'll be out of town. Soooo here's an early chapter!**

 **I'm excited to be releasing chapters again on a regular basis, and am happy to announce that the Color of the Cure will be releasing a chapter every two weeks regularly until it's conclusion (or unless there are extenuating circumstances). Thank you all for your patience.**

 **Thank you to all of those who have reviewed so far, including Lavender Hope for pointing out an inconsistency in Clara's last name. I have gone back and fixed that, so thank you for pointing it out.**

 **Thanks for following me on this journey! The next chapter of The Color of the Cure will release April 22nd.**


	9. Chapter 9: How Death Cries

Ivar was a smart man. Brilliant, even, he would say. But he also thought he was too smart for his own good. He often thought those who are smarter become more easily bored. And he had been so bored as of late. Even with his wonderful project with SCP-049. Even that was beginning to become boring. Regular. He hated regularities. Consistencies. Familiarity. It was all so boring. Change was good. Change kept his mind thinking new things, exciting things, he could wonder and hypothesize and yes, of course, the best part, he could _test_ his hypotheses. And that was, without a doubt, the best part. It didn't matter if he was right or wrong, because at the end of it, he would have learned something, anything, and that felt exhilarating. He could hardly stand the high of it all. It was his drug, his addiction, his lifeline.

And here he was now, back on that high, trying to resist the urge to giggle with delight at the sheer, beautiful irony of it all. A breach. He knew he was supposed to hate them, but there was always so much he learned afterward. It was one big test. One big question and answer. How many people could an SCP kill by itself? How many people would die if there were more than one SCP? Would some SCPs fight, or would they simply ignore each other? The questions it raised were unbearably delicious, and he never had to worry, of course not, the others would do their jobs, just like he did his, and the SCPs would be contained again soon and he could go back to his lab, go back to studying and finding answers to all of the little questions.

He strolled through the halls with with serene calmness, each stride even and carefully placed in time, like a march, though he felt like skipping. He pushed his glasses further up his noise and smiled, humming along to the wailing sirens that eventually ended, but that too, didn't surprise him. With a breach this large, he imagined the sirens had lost their purpose, what was the need for them? Everyone knew there was a breech, so the sirens were null and void. To warn others? They already knew.

Ivar wondered if perhaps he should have sought out Hollaway, and stuck by his side for safety. But Hollaway was a stickler for the rules. He lived for uniformity. Rules. Plans. And so, Ivar found him boring. He didn't used to. They used to be good friends, eyes wide in awe and fear at their first orientation and introduction to their steel hallways and arched ceilings. They would sit in the cafeteria, gabbing in hushed whispers over what each of them had seen and experienced. It didn't take long for the Foundation to pick out each of their strengths. Hollaway was as he always was: strict, controlling, organized. They loved him. He followed every protocol, every rule, even if it meant sacrificing his own men, demoting those who broke the rules, killing off D-Class who even glanced in the wrong direction. A trained lapdog. This place had merely brought out Hollaway's innate ability to behave and obey.

What a waste of potential.

Of himself, they were always unsure. Ivar was not ignorant to the cautious glances at his amused smiles, the hesitant psychological reports that always turned back with high scores, but with comments of "feeling something was off." Of course they thought something was off. Those tests were childish. Boring. He knew what to say. How to act. It was all another part of the game. And still, he climbed the ranks, constructing tests that gave them so many answers, so many things they never thought they'd understand, and Ivar was there. His pinnacle of achievement though was, without a doubt, SCP-049-B. He would never forget that day. The rush. The thrill. The answers he had placed in front of him, like rows of trays, a feast for his hungry mind, and behind each platter was a banquet of questions. It was the best day of his life.

They'd denied him further experimentation on SCP-049 though. It was unfortunate. Infuriating. He smashed his computer in his office. Simple mistake, he had claimed. It just fell off his desk.

Oh, but that was behind him now. He didn't need to get worked up about the things that didn't happen, because here, now, in the chaos and cacophony of screams, the beauty of this randomness, he was free to do whatever he want. Test whatever he wanted. So no, the screams didn't scare him. The sirens filled him with excitement. Glee, even. Because he had nothing to fear. Soon, the SCPs would all be contained, and he could bask in the questions their breach had raised. While the soldiers were scrambling for order, he would use this to his advantage, and finally conduct the test he had been building up for, finally answer the question that had plagued his mind for years now, so many years of planning.

He just had to find where Clara had wandered off to.

* * *

The halls were oddly quiet, but Clara appreciated the silence. It kept her on edge. Every door she opened, she listened before she walked in. So far, she'd been exceptionally lucky. Or at least, she thought she was. Eventually, she started reaching doors that wouldn't open. Nearly every door, as a matter of fact. Some opened, leading to more mostly abandoned storage rooms. There were a couple rooms with SCP signs. She didn't try those doors. In fact, she tended to walk in the opposite direction whenever possible.

Clara was beginning to lose hope, but she was also starting to get scared. More scared. She hadn't seen a single other living person this whole time. There was only one other person, but...

She had walked into the room, a larger room with big, open ceilings. Lots of different hallways she could have gone, but right as she took a step forward, movement caught her eye.

A body, what remained of it, dropped from the ceiling and hit the ground with a dull thud. It didn't even bounce. Just lay there, no blood or anything. Part of Clara knew she should go forward and check to see if they had a better key card, but the thought of getting closer made her knees shake. She had just stumbled backwards, scrambling away from the sight of it, covering her mouth to keep herself from screaming and alerting every monster in this place. She only thought of the key card afterward, but it was too late, or that's what she told herself anyway. Whatever had done that to him could still be there, waiting for her to approach, leaving the corpse there like bait.

Excuses. She knew. But she believed them, and pressed on despite the way that her lip quivered and her eyes watered. She was so scared. But fear can be a motivator. She could either crawl up in a ball and cry like a child, or gather her wits and try to use that fear to motivate her. Fight or flight. That was a thing, right? She didn't feel like fighting much. And she was still plenty scared, but whatever kept her moving.

Eventually, Clara made her way to the end of the hallway and to a large elevator. It looked like normally she would have had to scan a card, but the door was already opened, waiting, ready for her.

She bit back the hope threatening to rise inside of her. An elevator, just waiting for her. Could it lead her up and out of this place?

She practically sprinted to it, stepping inside and hoping it wouldn't need a key card to operate.

A scanner. Waiting for her card. She bit her bottom lip. Of course. And she doubted hers would work. It was worth a shot, anyway, and Clara swiped her Class C Personnel card, hoping for something, anything.

Nothing. The scanner beeped and flashed red. Access denied. Another locked door. Maybe Clara really was going to have to go back and look at the body that fell from the ceiling, but what if she did that all for nothing? What if she picked over the remains, and there wasn't a key card at all? What if-

The elevator doors closed, and Clara's eyes widened. Was someone else activating it? Yes, of course! She hadn't thought of that! Someone else was operating the elevators, and she could meet up with them, and finally have someone else to help her get out of this awful place!

Her heart jumped a little when the elevator started moving downwards, not upwards, but it made sense that someone may need help on a lower floor. But with every floor down they traveled, the further Clara's heart seemed to drop into her stomach. They were going down. Down further than Clara had ever been. But, she supposed she had time to look over some SCP files, and pulled out the papers she had scooped up along the way. There were only a few that even seemed relevant. One about a teddy bear? Yeah, she'd avoid that one. A jade ring that seemed like it might be useful, might even be useful against The Doctor, but he claimed she was immune to his touch anyway. One was a copy of SCP-049's file itself, and she tossed it aside. As if she needed a reminder to stay away from him.

 _It_ , she reminded herself. It's a monster. Not a person. Not a him. _It_.

Clara opened another file.

SCP-035. Parts of the file were missing. She'd read this one before, hadn't she? That was a while ago. A sentient mask. She'd only briefly glanced over this one's warnings, as she did many of the others. The warnings were to stay way far away, and get a psych evaluation if you spent too long too close to it. She guessed it could talk or something, she hadn't remembered, but she flipped through it again anyway, it might be something to watch out for now that there might not be guards telling her what areas to avoid. An addendum with SCP-049 labeled on the front caught her eye.

Her eyes widened. SCP-049 broke containment before? To...visit this thing? This mask? Just to have a chat, as if they were old buddies, then calmly went back to his cell?

Now she had even more reason to avoid this thing. If it was working with SCP-049, she could only imagine how terrifying it would be.

She moved on. Read a few more files. Stopped. Her own folder weighed heavily in her back pocket, tempting her to take another peak. Read a few lines. Learn more about herself. But she didn't want to learn more. She couldn't. Her throat dried up and her hands got clammy just thinking about it. She knew she couldn't run from the file, from herself, forever, but she was going to run a little longer at the very least.

After a few more moments, the elevator reached its destination. The bottom floor. Clara put the documents away, straightening and waiting at the ready, willing to put her hands up if she needed to. A thousand ways to plead for help were already running through her mind. She hoped it was some guards, or a group of researchers. She'd even take some D-Class as long as...

Well. Maybe. She _might_ take some D-Class. Considering her previous encounter with a D-Class up close and personal, she wasn't so sure.

She hoped it was Jack. She hoped some merciful deity took pity on her. She wanted those doors to open, wanted to see his bright, blue eyes and reassuring smile. He'd reach out his hand for her, take her away from this place, from this hell, keep her safe.

Instead, when the doors opened, only darkness greeted Clara. Darkness and more silence.

Wasn't there something she was supposed to remember about the bottom floor? Something...something important? Something she'd been warned about?

"Help...oh God...oh God please help me...it hurts so much..."

Clara stopped. She knew that voice.

"Tetris?" she called out cautiously.

"Help me please," he sobbed from somewhere ahead of her. "Please, please help..."

"H-Hang on Tetris, I'm coming," Clara called out. "It's too dark in here, where are you?"

"Help! Help, it hurts! It hurts! Where is everyone!? Help me!"

Was his voice getting closer? Then why did it sound like it was to her right now? She could have sworn she was walking straight towards it. It was so hard when she could hardly see three feet in front of her.

"W-who's there? Is that you?"

Wait...to her left now? Clara spun around, stumbling in the dark. What was going on? Her heart beat in her chest, feeling like it was going to beat out of her throat if she didn't calm herself down.

"Where are you?" The voice was close. Behind her now.

Clara froze and swallowed. Wait...she was starting to remember now. Something really important about the basement, and Storage Area 6.

"Is that you?"

Clara slowly turned around. Deep in the darkness, pinpoints of red glowed. Eyes. And hundreds of teeth. The maw opened, saliva dripping and pooling at the ground in front of it. As Clara's eyes adjusted, she could see long, bony limbs, a maw that stretched clear across its head like a dog's mouth, webbed fingers, and no eyes. But she had no doubt that it saw her. It locked onto Clara, and Clara stared back.

"God, please help me," Tetris's voice whimpered. And then it tore towards her.

Clara spun around, running down the corridor. She heard it gaining on her, four limbs catching up to her far quicker than her own two limbs. She turned the corner around a storage block in the large dark room, and the beast turned sharply to follow, knocking into it before chasing after her again. Clara stole a look behind her as she ran, seeing it leap towards her through the air. Clara darted to the side again, this time the creature barreling directly into a storage box, denting it. Instead of roaring in pain or anger, Tetris's pain-filled screams filled the air.

"OH GOD SOMEBODY HELP ME, SOMEBODY, PLEASE! AHHHHH!"

Clara bit back a sob, continuing to run as far as she could, keeping her eyes forward. Her mind was a whir in this dark maze, but she heard that thing gaining on her again. Clara turned the corner, trying to make her way back to the elevator, but instead she came face to face with another one of those creatures. She gasped, immediately covering her mouth with her hand, but it was too late. The beast turned toward her, and let out a feminine scream that she didn't recognize.

"Where are you guys?!" it said, and took its turn chasing after her.

Clara's shoes slipped against the slick, cement floor, and she scrambled away as these beasts surrounded her. There was nothing in the space but storage containers, but Clara saw her saving grace, a small, metal staircase leading up to an overlook with a locked door. She sprinted towards it, throwing herself up the stairs three at a time, reaching the top bridge as the two creatures crashed into the staircase below, breaking it off with a loud, metallic crack. The bridge wobbled without its central support, and Clara screamed as she hung on for dear life. The two creatures down below waited hungrily, leaping up and snapping their jaws at her, like a meal being lowering on a string. She used the rails as support, forcing her body to move, MOVE, and she climbed into the overlook chamber, shutting the door with a slam.

Clara collapsed against the closed door, sinking to the ground. She coughed, her throat burning after sucking in too much air, too quickly. Her sides hurt, and her legs were numb. She was shaky, so shaky that she didn't think she'd be able to stand even if she wanted to. Even trying to rise to her knees met with failure, as she just wobbled back down to the ground again.

Below her, she could still hear them. Hear Tetris's voice calling out for help, other voices she didn't recognize answering with their own pleas. Calls, and answers. A foreign tongue of agony and anguish that Clara couldn't hope to understand.

It was the last straw. The tipping point. There, in the darkened corner of an abandoned lookout post, Clara curled her knees to her chest and sobbed, her own cries for help soon mirroring those of the monsters below.

* * *

Somewhere in the chaos of running away from SCP-106, Jack and Blue had been completely separated from their other two units. He'd thought they'd just ran on ahead, but after turning down hallways and corridors, it was clear they'd completely abandoned the two of them. That, or they had fallen prey to something else.

They ran through what felt like half the building before finally becoming satisfied they'd lost SCP-106. It helped that, according to Blue, it got confused pretty easily. Tangled pathways were met with hesitation, and Jack was once again grateful that the Foundation seemed to think of everything when containing these things. Well, usually, anyway.

They'd stopped at a storage room to take a breath and drink some water they'd had stored in their bags. Jack wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, screwing the lid back on his canteen before turning to Blue. "Do you think that thing will come back after us?"

She shrugged, checking over her ammunition and supplies. "It's possible. But I doubt it will seek us out intentionally. We might just stumble upon it again. It's a small building for a creature that can walk through walls. But I think we're probably okay. I have a feeling it will be lured toward other areas."

Ah. Yeah. It liked screams of pain.

Jack leaned back against the wall, sighing. "...this is...pretty bad, isn't it?"

"Definitely the worst breach I've been in," Blue answered. "Still can't get over those doors opening and closing all on their own. Our system is supposed to prevent that. It could mean...no, that's impossible. But this is bad, Jack. They might...well."

"Yeah. I was thinking that too," Jack said, cutting her off. "If this doesn't get contained soon, they might blow the whole place to hell. Right?"

"The warheads are always armed and ready in these kinds of situations," Blue said. "Way I see it, we're on a timer. Unless we start containing these things, and fast, there won't be anything left of this site. We'd have to try to make our way to the shelters, but you know that's not going to be their priority if some of those big Keters get out."

"Hollaway already said a few were."

"I know. I'm kinda surprised they haven't already blown this place to kingdom come, honestly," Blue said. "I've already said my prayers anyway. Made peace with it. I'm gonna try my damnedest to get these demons back into their cells, but I already know I might go up in flames."

"Any regrets?" Jack asked with a smile.

"Hm..." Blue looked over at him, then up at the ceiling. "Guess I wish I would have gone out with Tetris at least once."

Jack burst into laughter. "Wait, I thought you hated him?"

Blue snorted. "Is that what you thought? Good. Probably had him fooled too. If he knew I wanted that, I'd never live it down."

"And THAT'S your last regret?" Jack said.

"What were you expecting? Wish I coulda been a mom, or settled down, or gone to Mexico or something? No. You know me, Jack, that's not who I am. That's not who I thought you are either, but here you are, not freakin' out much at the thought of going up in a mushroom. Ka-pew," she said, making an explosion with her hands.

"Guess I'm just not as resigned to dying as you are," he said.

"That's not how you were acting in front of SCP-106 earlier," Blue pointed out.

"Yeah but...staring at death like that. I've got something I have to do before I die. Something that I won't let be a regret," he said. He crossed his arms.

He had promised himself, after all. Clara wouldn't just be a regret passing by before he died. He'd find her. If she were still alive, and his stomach twisted at the thought of her being anything else, he'd find her and tell her everything.

"Yeah, well, all that being said, I don't _really_ plan on dying anytime soon, so let's get moving," Blue said, packing up her supplies. "We've got some SCPs to contain."

"Now we're talking," Jack said, rising to his feet with a grunt. "Let's move."

Jack and Blue headed down the hall, gun's aimed, locked, loaded, and ready around every corner. They ran into a few fleeing D-Class. They weren't a problem for long.

"We're nearing a surveillance station I think," Blue said. "It's near SCP-035's containment area, but that door is sealed so we should be fine," she said. "I want to check those cameras and see if we can figure things out a bit, catch something on the cameras we might be able to contain and make some actual progress. I also want to see if I can get into contact with Hollaway. He might be able to bait 106 back into its cell remotely. Once he's contained, we'll have a much better chance of making it out of this without explosions."

Jack nodded. "Right. Let's just be careful."

They began to turn down the hallway to head to the surveillance room, but Jack stuck out his hand, pushing him and Blue back around the corner. He put a finger to his lips, and peeked back around the corner. He knew that figure anywhere.

SCP-049 turned, eyes scanning his surroundings, but it hadn't noticed them. Behind it was another creature, some monstrosity that Jack recognized as an instance of SCP-049-1. The Doctor scanned the hallway again, looking for something among the doors, and then paused in front of a room. The door opened almost instantly for him, even without the use of a key card, and SCP-049 stepped inside, his creation following behind. The door hissed shut a second later, and Jack and Blue finally turned the corner from their hiding place.

"Did he just go into-"

Jack nodded, cutting her off. "SCP-035's room. Let's talk more when we get to our destination. He's one that we should definitely contain, but let's get to those cameras first."

Blue cautiously sneaked passed the room The Doctor had just entered, Jack close behind her. As they walked, Jack suddenly felt a crunch beneath his foot. He looked down, and picked up a small, metal name tag normally used to be pinned onto lab coats by research staff. Jack's eyes widened as Dr. Hamm's name stared calmly back at him. He turned to look back into SCP-035's room. Was that thing Doctor Hamm? If so, then where was Clara? As much as Jack wished he could just barge in there demanding answers, dealing with not only SCP-049 and the recently turned SCP-049-1, but also the Keter-class SCP-035 was too much. Jack didn't know much about SCP-035, just that everyone told him to stay as far away as possible if he could avoid it. Few people came into contact with SCP-035 and lived to tell the tale. For now, Jack just had to trust, _hope_ , that Clara was alright. Maybe that thing wasn't really Doctor Hamm. Maybe it had just grabbed his name-tag, he lied to himself.

Clara wasn't with them, and for now, that was enough to keep Jack sane. She wasn't an instance of SCP-049-1 either. If the file Jack had read about her was correct, that would be impossible.

Jack continued following Blue, leaving the discarded name-tag behind for now.

* * *

Clara flicked on her radio, musing through the stations, still curled up under one of the desk's in the overlook room. Each channel she flicked to, she'd wait, listen for any voices, then mutter up a word or two. "Hello?" "Anyone there?" "Please help." Time and time again, nothing answered. Her eyes watered, and she moved to put the radio back again and just give up on ever getting out of this place, when a familiar voice called out from the radio like a lifeline:

"Clara?!"

Her eyes widened. Her heart leaped back to life, and she sat up so quickly she banged her head on the top of the desk. "Ouch," she winced, rubbing it. She clicked the button on the side of the radio, leaning forward. She swallowed, her voice catching in her throat for a moment.

"Jack! I'm here!"

"Clara, you're okay, thank God, where are you?" he said. His voice sounded hushed.

Clara let out a choked sob.

"I...I'm in the basement...in Storage Area 6..."

Jack was silent.

"I..I thought I heard Tetris, so I, I walked out to find him, but there were only these things, these monster things that sounded like him, and other people too. Oh God Jack, they're down below, I-I've locked myself in the look-out chamber, but I don't think there's a way out."

Nothing, again.

"Jack?" Clara squeaked. "Please say something."

He sighed, but it was a noise, it was enough to let her know that he was still there, still in the palm of her hand.

"There's no way out of here, is there?" Clara said softly.

"There are two elevators." His voice sounded pained. Hurt. He wanted to tell her why, wanted to tell her that if she heard Tetris, that meant he was gone. Dead. But that wouldn't help her. Not right now. "Do you think you could make it back to the one you came in?" he asked.

"No," Clara said. "Maybe? I don't know, the stairs broke when I ran up here, I'm not sure if I can get down, and those things are still down there."

"Clara. Listen to me very carefully," Jack said. "I can't come get you."

Clara swallowed. Her heart beat loudly in her ears, and the room spun for a moment.

"But I can help you get out of there. I can't talk for long, so I need you to listen to me as closely as you can. In that look out stand, there's a big row of buttons and computer monitors, right?" he said.

"Yeah, but they're all turned off," she said.

"Check underneath them, all the way to the left," he said.

Clara crawled back under the table, fumbling about in the dark until she felt her fingers brush up against something taped to the underside of the desk. She removed the tape, and pulled out a small handgun. The weight of it shook in her hands.

"Do you know how to use a gun?" Jack asked.

"No," Clara answered, her voice too weak for him to hear, so she repeated herself. "N-no. No, I don't."

"Then you're going to have to figure it out. There should be some ammunition in a cabinet somewhere in the room. Find it."

Clara searched the room, all the while those monsters continued calling out and crying down below, waiting for her to try to move. Finally, she found a pack of bullets tucked away behind some files. Jack's voice was comforting. Encouraging. Walking her through how to fire. How to load the gun. What to do. It felt like he was right there beside her, guiding her hands and steeling her nerves. His voice was static-y through the radio, but solid enough that it kept her grounded.

"Clara," he said gently. "Just get out of that basement, and I'll come find you, alright? Stay on this channel, but turn the radio off. You don't want those things to hear you if you can hide. When you get out, turn it back on."

He said when. When she got out. Not if. She appreciated that.

"You can do this, alright? You _can_ do this," he said.

Clara nodded to herself. She wiped away the lingering tears from her eyes with her sleeve, and took a deep breath in.

"Are you ready?" Jack asked.

Clara let out her breath and opened her eyes. She took the safety off the gun, and opened the door of the watch tower. This was it. If she wanted to survive, she was going to have to do it on her own. She had to survive. There were questions she still needed answered. There were things she still needed to do. And, most importantly, she still wanted to make her life her own. Regardless of what the papers said, regardless of what the Doctor said, this was her life. She wasn't going to lose it to a bunch of hungry monsters. She refused.

"Ready."

* * *

 **Literally everyone (probably): Oh hey, how come all these chapters keep getting released early?**

 **Me: ...because I wrote them and am proud I didn't procrastinate.**

 **Holy cow! Over 30 reviews?! You guys are awesome, thank you all so much! Totally made my day!**

 **The next Chapter of The Color of the Cure will release Monday, May 6th. Or earlier, apparently, since I'm always way too excited to release the new chapters and always end up doing it early. Oh well lol. See you then!**

 **P.S. If you're a Bendy and the Ink Machine fan, I have started a second story that will update every other week (specifically on the weeks that this fanfiction does not update) so please go check it out!**


	10. Chapter 10: The Mask

Getting down from the watch tower was obstacle number one. If Clara was going to get out of this, she needed to get down from the tower. The lack of light meant that seeing was difficult, but her eyes had adjusted more than she thought they would in the darkness. She peered down from the walkway, moving quietly. The metal creaked ever so slightly, not used to the extra weight after the support was broken, but nothing came running. There were no pinpoints of red or glowing maws. Not yet. For now, it seemed like the beasts had gone back to patrolling the basement in search of more reachable prey.

Clara took another shaky breath in. The watch tower was at least a story up. There was no way she could just jump down, not without hurting her legs or making a noise loud enough to alert the monsters. The walkway stretched out a bit further before twisting and breaking off, jagged pieces of metal sticking out where the staircase once was. She might be able to lower herself off of the walkway, but there was no guarantee it could hold her weight long enough for her to drop herself down. She didn't have any rope, but she had something that might be enough.

Clara untied the lab coat from around her waist and ripped it in two, working slowly and carefully to avoid making too much noise. She heard a voice, far off in the distance, a soft cry for help, and she paused, waiting until she couldn't hear the cry anymore before continuing. Finally, her jacket in two, she tied the pieces together and then tied one end to the walkway. She was going to have to lower herself, carefully, slowly, down to the ground before, hoping that no monster caught her in the meantime. The gun, tucked securely into the base of her shorts, pressed against her.

"Clara, do _not_ fire unless you absolutely have to. A bullet will alert every other instance of that thing to where you are," Jack had said. "Last resort only."

She wished she could talk to him again. Her legs shook slightly as she held her makeshift rope in her hands and looked down. The ground felt so far away. Focus, Clara, she told herself. One step at a time. Get out of here, and then you can get to Jack. He'll be waiting for you. You just have to get out.

She gripped the edge of her rope tightly, nails digging into the fabric, as she slowly stepped over the safety rail of the walkway. The other end was tight. Secure. It wouldn't give out. She was fine. Deep breaths, Clara, she reminded herself. Slowly, she lowered herself, inch by inch, down to the ground below. Her rope stopped about a foot short, and Clara dropped down the rest of the way, her feet silently hitting the ground. She immediately stooped down into a crouch, eyes scanning around her. No sign of them yet. She glanced up at her lab coat hanging off the side of the rail, fluttering slightly as if waving goodbye.

She forced her gaze away. There was no going back now.

The storage crates provided a simple means of shelter, but the long corridors they created by their towering sides made her feel like a rat in a maze. Every corner felt deadly; she never knew if one of them would be staring back at her. She kept her attention instead on pushing ahead, trying her best to stick to one direction in hopes of finding an exit. Even with her eyes having adjusted, it was impossible to see the elevators from behind the storage crates. She'd have to keep pressing on until she found one.

Clara kept her right hand to the container, tracing it and following it along, an old trick she learned long ago to get out of any maze or confusing area. If you kept one hand to the same wall, eventually, you'd find your way out. She wasn't sure if the same rule applied here, where walls towered in the middle of the room thanks to containers stacked on top of each other, creating winding hallways and corridors, but it was the best idea that she had.

"Hey, did you hear something?"

Clara froze. That sounded like a soldier. Clara cautiously peeked her head around the corner of the container.

One of those beasts was pacing back and forth. It wasn't facing Clara, thankfully, and strode away from her. She could make out more features now, bones and joints sticking out against faintly glowing red skin, moving up and down with every step. It walked on four legs, but its knees were pointed forward. A few moments later, the beast paused and rose back on its haunches. She ducked back, keeping one eye out to watch it.

It was huge. Easily seven feet tall on its hind legs. Its muzzle twitched, sniffing the air. Its claws were bigger than her head. One swipe is all it would take, and those teeth still glowed, permanently painted red. It turned, looking over its shoulder, and Clara pulled her head back. She closed her eyes, waiting, listening. Could it hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears? Could it hear her shaking against the container? Could it hear her bite her lip to keep from crying out?

She waited, waited until she heard what sounded like claws clicking back onto the ground and moving before stealing another glance. Its lower frame walked forward, away from her, and turned the corner out of sight.

She allowed herself a small sigh of relief, and kept moving.

A loud crash sent Clara back, pushing herself up against the shadow of the container. She looked up. One of those things had leaped to the top of the container, inches from her, so close she could count the teeth lingering above her head. It was right above her. Its weight had dented the container from the lip, claws ripping into steel and causing the metal to groan. It scanned out in front of it, sniffing the air again, opening its mouth to taste the air, to catch a small smell of her. All it had to do was look down.

Clara covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out. She forced herself to steady her breathing, breathing too quickly meant breathing louder. She couldn't move until it did, she was trapped until it decided to leave, but if it leaped down, she wouldn't be able to stay hidden. It had been pure luck that it hadn't leaped on the container a few feet to her right or left, or it would have been able to see her. The fact that she was right underneath it was her only saving grace.

It lingered, growling, the first noise that wasn't human, something deep and guttural and animalistic. _Why wasn't it leaving?_

If it didn't move soon, the other beast might come back, might turn the corner and see her there, cowering below the other one. Then she'd really be screwed. She had to get it away somehow.

Her eyes darted around the room. Something, there had to be something to distract it. Clara took a deep breath in and held it, reaching into her pocket to pull out one of the spare bullets she had inside. Her gun was already loaded, but this tiny little bullet might be her escape from this thing. She gripped it in her hand, palms sweaty and trying to keep a steady hold on it. She carefully pulled her arm back. She had to throw it far enough away. If it hit the ground too close to her, it would know she was there. If she pulled her arm too far back, it would see her throw it and know she was there. There was a slim margin for error.

Clara steeled her nerves, rolling to the balls of her feet in case she needed to run, and tossed the bullet down the darkened path to her left. The bullet hit the ground a few feet away with a soft "ting" and the beast's head whipped toward the noise.

"Where are you hiding?!" it called out, and jumped toward the noise, off of the container.

The second it wasn't above her, Clara turned to sprint in the opposite direction. She slid around the corner of the storage container, and came face-to-face with another one of those creatures.

Both paused. But only for a moment.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" it screamed, and leaped toward her. Clara screamed, pulled out her gun, and fired once, twice, three times. The beast howled in pain, falling backwards and writhing on the ground. It screeched over and over again, becoming less human with every cry, and Clara stumbled backwards.

Throughout the storage area, cries called back.

"Oh my God, what is that thing?"

"I see it! Over here!"

"Aghhhh! Oh God oh God!"

Three other voices in total. And they were gaining on her.

Clara didn't waste another second. She couldn't. She turned back to the container that had been dented and carved apart by the creature lingering above her, and used the newly formed ridges to hoist herself on top of the container. Those beasts all knew she was here already. This way, she could see the elevator, even if they could see her too.

There. A few yards ahead, she could see it, along with three pulsing red figures tearing towards her.

Clara ran forward on top of the containers, each step sending an echoing, metallic thud. When she reached the end of a row of containers, she leaped onto the next row, falling just a bit short and scraping her knee as she scrambled to pull herself up and keep running. Loud crashes indicated that they had leaped on top of the containers behind her, but she didn't stop to turn around and check. She heard those things panting like a pack of wolves behind her. She could feel their hot breath on her heels. She kept running.

Just a few feet now.

Clara sprinted across the last of the containers, taking one long leap off of them and onto the ground before. The impact _hurt,_ shook her bones and made her teeth crash against each other. She winced in pain, limping toward the elevator now. She was so close, so close! She could see it now, the doors were closed and all she had to do was scan her card and-

Oh. Right.

Clara froze mid-stride, those creatures still behind her. She heard them skid to a stop. Heard them surround her from all sides, probably confused why she had decided to stop in the middle of their chase, the middle of their game.

But Clara could go no further. The elevator door was closed, and Clara didn't have a key card that would open it. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten something so important. She'd only been sent down here by chance anyway. No key card, no entry. No escape.

This was the end, she thought to herself. I'm going to die here, and I'll never have learned the truth about who I really am.

She felt odd. Blank. Not really afraid anymore. She wondered why that was.

 _You have no reason to fear those who are beneath you._

One of them, tired of waiting, leaped toward her with a screech. Clara reached up instinctively, either to shield her face from an attack or fight back herself, she wasn't sure. She fired a shot, but missed in her panic, and it smashed into her. She felt warm, fleshy skin against her hands, sharp teeth. It knocked her back to the ground, and she cried out as she hit rough concrete. She heard a loud crunch from beneath her. She banged her head hard enough to make the room spin and for her to see stars. There was a loud ringing in her ears, deafening, swelling up to the point where she couldn't even hear her own scream.

Then nothing.

With a whine, the creature fell limp on top of her. Its body shuddered for a moment, and then lay still. It didn't move, and its full weight pressed against her. She felt no teeth, no claws, nothing. After a moment of shaky breathing, she heaved and pushed its heavy form off of her. It rolled to the side and lay motionless, tongue lolling out of its mouth.

It was dead.

Clara blinked slowly. She looked around at the other two, who were backing away in hesitation, then down at her hands.

She knew she felt teeth. She knew she scraped her knee too. So why wasn't she bleeding? Why did her head feel so foggy?

She looked back down at the creature. Its mouth was still open, ready to bite into her, ready to tear into her, but it didn't move. The glowing red light died down, fading away until only sickly red flesh remained.

 _I killed it with a single touch._

No. That wasn't exactly right, Clara thought numbly. The two creatures still remaining growled at her one last time, and then turned and fled back into the darkness, back behind storage containers in search of easier meat. In search of prey. The room started spinning, and Clara stumbled, her back hitting the elevator doors with a thump. A few moments later, the doors opened with a hum, and she fell back inside of them. The bright white lights hurt her eyes, and she was left blinking, for a moment, trying to adjust. She looked down at her hands that had started to shake. Her breathing quickened too. She didn't question why the elevator started to move again, doors sealing shut.

Was this another panic attack? It was probably well-deserved. How was she supposed to feel? Horrified at how close she had come to death? Relieved that she was alive? Terrified of what she just did? There was no mistaking it.

Clara hadn't just killed that thing. _She'd shut down all of its bodily systems._ She knew that's what she did. She could feel it. All in the millisecond of their touch, she could feel it. She could feel the blood racing through it, she could feel the nerves and the brain waves like machinery sending electrical pulses, she felt the internal organs moving and twisting about, she felt it all. And then it all just stopped. She just wanted it to stop, and it did.

Her breathing was coming out in rasps now, she felt like she couldn't get enough air, she was struggling to breath and her hands were throbbing, shaking with the need to-

She sat on her hands. No. No no no. She wasn't going to think that, she couldn't allow herself to think that, it wasn't right, it was wrong, it wasn't her. Clara squeezed her eyes shut, counted to ten, and tried to ignore the voice in her head, the impulse in her fingertips, that was begging her to go back, cut that thing open, and operate.

* * *

Jack paced back and forth in the small room he and Blue had set up as a safe haven. Temporary, of course, their safe haven was just a blockaded door with a filing cabinet shoved up against it. It wouldn't do much against creatures that could walk through walls. Still, the room was a small sanctuary. They restocked on ammo and supplies, they even found a few rations they allowed themselves to indulge in. Granted, it wasn't exactly tasty, but they weren't exactly in the position to complain. Once they had caught their breath, Blue sat down at the computer terminals and began typing away madly. She was good with computers, one of the best, so Jack let her take over the reigns. Unfortunately, that meant he had more time in his own head, staring down at the walkie-talkie in his hands.

Blue looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Jack, will you sit down? You're making me a nervous wreck, pacing back and forth like that. Relax, we're both safe for the moment."

"Yeah, I know," he said, tucking the radio just out of sight.

Blue's eyes narrowed. "Jack. What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," he said. "Let's just hurry up so we can get moving again."

Blue spun her chair around and crossed her arms. "Jack. I'm not stupid. What's so important about that damn walkie-talkie?"

"It's..." Jack sighed. "I got into contact with Clara."

"And?" Blue said coldly. "What of it?"

"Well, I want to make sure she's okay and-"

Blue scowled, cutting him off. "Dammit Jack, what the hell? Why are you worried about her? _"_

"She's my responsibility," Jack said.

"To hell with your responsibility, Jack, we're in the middle of a breach! Having her around will just make things more complicated! If you want to contain her again, then that's fine, we can just shoot her for all I car-"

Jack marched over and grabbed Blue's arm roughly. Her eyes widened, and Jack spoke through clenched teeth.

"Don't. You. _Dare._ "

Blue's face dropped. "Holy shit...holy shit Jack, do you...do you actually _care_ about that thing?"

"Her name is Clara," he said icily.

"You're insane," Blue said, jerking her arm free. "You're actually insane. She is one of THEM, Jack! She's just like SCP-049!"

"No, she's not!" Jack shouted. "You don't know anything about her! You've hated her from the start, you never even gave her a chance!"

"And you _did?_ " she screamed back. "We weren't supposed to be buddy-buddy with her, Jack! Not for a second! We were supposed to pretend to give a shit so she kept thinking she was just a normal human being. That was it! We were trusted with this because we can take orders, because we _wouldn't_ get attached, and now you're telling me that you care about this girl? Are your urges to be a hero that strong? Oh look at Jack, he just can't help himself if someone needs him, has to play the hero," she cooed. "No. To hell with you. Get your head out of your ass, Jack. This isn't a game. This is real, and if you try to save her, you're going to get yourself killed."

"She's not like that!" he barked back.

Blue spun back around and started typing on the computer. A few seconds later, Clara's file flooded the screen. Pictures of her on an operating table, with Dr. Ivar standing nearby. Pictures of her being administered amnesics. Documents of things Jack had pushed aside in his mind. Damning things. Things that Clara didn't know. That she didn't want to know. Of her before. Machinery and testing, so much damn testing, all while she lay there on the table while they ran more experiments and stuck her full of more needles, only for her to not bleed a drop. Injecting her with all sorts of awesome things, and a picture off to the side that Jack scoffed at, refusing to look at it, refusing to look at what she used to be.

Blue turned back to Jack. "In case you needed a reminder of what she's capable of, why don't you reread her file, Jack? Why don't you read all about the people who _died_ because of her?"

"I've heard enough," he muttered, and grabbed his gun and supplies, heading toward the door. "I'm going to find Clara."

"You're just going to head out there, alone?" Blue spat. "You're a disgrace, Jack. All this for some girl you don't even know. Fine then, go and get yourself killed for all I care, I'll meet up with Tetris or Bear or-"

"Tetris is dead!" he shouted, shoving the filing cabinet out of the way with a loud crash. Papers pooled out of it onto the ground, unfinished reports and articles, D-Class identification, all mixing together in one fluttering pile that was crushed beneath his footsteps.

Blue stiffened. Her bottom lip quivered. "That's not funny."

"I'm not joking," he snapped back. He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. This was stupid. He shouldn't be getting mad. He shouldn't be storming out of here like a child throwing a fit. He should be working with Blue. Maybe she was right. Maybe he really shouldn't be worrying about Clara. He'd read her file. He knew what she was. What she had done. Maybe...maybe he really should just leave her behind. To keep himself alive. They'd already lost Tetris. Goofy, stupid, yet brilliant Tetris, with his loud mouth and funny stories. How many of them had he told over the years? How many of them were true? Some of them? All of them? Maybe none of them. Maybe nothing Tetris had ever said was true, but Jack knew he wanted to hear those goofy, unbelievable stories anyway. He'd believe them all, whatever Tetris wanted to say. He looked back over his shoulder at Blue, who still hadn't moved. Her eyes were desperate.

"Clara ran into instances of SCP-939. It can mimic the voices of those it's killed, in case you need to reread a file yourself. She put her life at risk because she thought she heard Tetris crying for help," Jack said. "And because she tried to find him, tried to help him, she got stuck trapped up in a watch tower with those things waiting for her down below, with no help, alone. But no, Blue, you're right, she's just a fucking heartless monster."

Blue's face crumpled, but Jack didn't stick around to see her start to cry. He walked out the door and slammed it shut behind him. He made it down the hall and around the corner before he broke down, sinking back against the wall and bursting into a fit of sobs that made his chest hurt. Ugly sobs, the kind that were all noise and rough heaving and horrible, broken noises. He threw off his mask and covered his face with his hands, gloves gripping into his hair. He'd lost Tetris, and now he'd lost Blue too.

* * *

By the time the elevator reached the top floor again, Clara was practically dead on her feet. Her exhaustion hit her all at once, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. She couldn't fall asleep, not here. There was no telling what lied around every corner, so she couldn't afford to close her eyes. This wasn't the time to rest. When the doors opened again, this time on a different floor, Clara hoisted herself up off of the ground and limped out of the elevator. Her body hurt. She still had a headache from being slammed to the floor, and her ankle throbbed with every weary step after leaping from the storage containers. Her clothes were covered in dirt, and her socks had ripped. Her sweater was in tatters, leaving only her tank top behind. She wished she still had her lab coat. It would have made her feel even a bit less vulnerable, but it was still downstairs, and she certainly wasn't going back for it.

Clara pulled out what remained of the walkie-talkie. When the beast knocked her to the ground, she had landed on the radio, breaking it. She'd tried to turn it on in the elevator, but there was nothing. The glass was shattered and the buttons were barely holding on.

Once again, she was on her own. The only thing she still had were the gun and a handful of bullets. It made her feel a little better, but only a little.

There wasn't much she could do, since she had no idea where to go. Her only hope was to find another radio on someone's remains, or stumble into Jack by chance. Maybe he had begun heading toward one of the elevators in hopes of meeting up with her. She held onto that thought, and pressed on to get out of the open. It wasn't safe here, where anything could see her.

Wearily, Clara stumbled into the first room she found, sinking back against the door as it closed behind her. She was so tired. All she wanted was to close her eyes, embrace sleep for just a moment, let it claim her and let everything else disappear for a while.

"Well well well, just look who stumbled into my humble abode."

Clara opened her eyes with a start, bolting upright and pulling out her gun. She turned around the empty room, pointing it this way and that at the voice. It looked like an observation room, similar to the one where she and Dr. Hamm used to work, watching SCP-049. This one was...different, though. The walls were darker, things were a bit more sporadically placed, and the door sealing the observation room from the containment room was solid steel, much sturdier than the one Clara was used to seeing. There were also more buttons than she was used to as well, computer terminals and levers for things she didn't quite understand. One of them was labeled "gas." However, she didn't see anyone else in the room with her.

"Touchy," the voice chuckled. "You seem a bit on edge, Clara. That is who you are, isn't it? Clara. Pretty name. I've heard _so_ much about you. It's nice to finally see you."

Clara gulped, and stepped forward, peering through the window. "Who's there? Who are you?"

Through the darkened room, Clara could make out a man in a researcher's coat. He was sitting in the containment cell, his head resting on his hand. There was a table, and a chair, which he was sitting in. Aside from him and the table, the only other thing in the room was an empty glass case, barely big enough to hold a child. She turned back to the man, but there really didn't seem to be anything particularly odd about him, aside from him wearing a solid white, porcelain comedy mask.

"Hello Clara!" the man said behind the mask. Something black dripped down beneath the mask, pooling onto his clothes and floor, leaving inky stains. She couldn't see his smile behind the mask, but the mask itself made up for it. Its cheery face stared blankly at her, a comedy mask of a figure whose mouth was jeering in laughter, mockingly. Those carved, upturned eyes looked menacing and cruel in a way Clara couldn't describe.

"They call me SCP-035. Rather boring name, don't you think? Totally lacking any creativity or originality." The man leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. "But I'm not sure if you could pronounce my real name either, not in your current state anyway. And what a sorry state it is."

Clara stepped closer to the glass, trying to get a better look inside. "You...you know who I am?"

"Of course!" he said cheerfully. "A dear friend of mine has told me much about you."

"SCP-049," Clara said. "I've read your file."

"Ahhh, so you know all about me then."

"A bit," Clara said cautiously. "There were papers missing. I only scanned the basics. I know that once, The Doctor broke containment to come visit you, so I wanted to stay away from you, if possible."

Why was she telling him all of this? Clara knew she shouldn't be so open, but it was as if her lips moved of their own accord, and she spoke freely, without hesitation.

"Correct you are! We go waaaaay back," he said with a giggle. "Old pals, as it were. Funny, I'm surprised you don't remember. Or is it that you haven't read your own file? Scared of what you might find? I bet there's so many questions swimming around in that pretty little head of yours. Go on then, read the file, I'll wait."

"I don't need to read it," Clara said sharply, pulling herself away from the glass. This was a trap. It had to be. He was an SCP. She couldn't forget that. She remembered how dangerous he was in that file, about how few survived an encounter with him. She might be safe behind the closed door, but the fact that he was being worn by a researcher meant that he'd already tricked someone else already. "And I shouldn't be here talking to you. I have other places to be, and you're dangerous."

"Wow. Rude. Don't you want to know?"

Clara turned away. She did have questions. Questions that she was tired of running from. Questions about what she could do, what she was capable of. She supposed she could stay and listen. Where else did she have to go right now?

Flashes of killing that monster with her bare hands rushed back to her mind, pulling her back to the moment where she could feel the blood rushing through its veins, back to the moment when she looked over its limp form. She knew exactly where to cut. Right down the stomach, an incision right there along the line, just to see what made it work.

Maybe it was time that she stopped running away.

Clara reached back to her pocket to pull out her file, and froze, eyes wide. She put her file in her lap coat pocket.

"Lose something?" SCP-035 taunted. "You're a mess."

"I don't need it!" she snapped suddenly. Why was her head hurting so much? Why did her chest hurt, why did she feel so clammy, why did she feel the urge to turn around and keep looking at SCP-035?

"You're right," he said plainly. "You don't. I know everything about you, Clara."

Clara shook her head. "You're just...you're just trying to get into my head...you're lying! I know that much about your file!"

"Oh come now Clara," he said, almost soothingly now. "There's so much I can teach you. So much that those _vermin_ wiped from your mind. Don't you want to know why you can kill things with a touch? Why you're even here at all? They erased your memories, Clara. But I know," he said.

He did?

"I do. And I can tell you everything. I can answer all of your questions, Clara, about who you really are. What you really are," he purred. "You're _special,_ Clara. I could show you so many things. I could answer so many of your questions."

Why was Clara dizzy? Why did she feel so funny all of the sudden? She wobbled, raising a hand to her head.

Why did his voice sound so close to her now, like he was whispering in her ear? And it wasn't a bad voice, she noticed. It was soft, gentle, like an embrace to comfort her after everything she'd been through up until now. He could answer all of her questions, take away all of her pain and confusion, he could just sweep that all away. Thoughts flew about in her mind, some of which were starting to feel foreign, but she couldn't fight them as they planted sweet words and subtle suggestions to step forward, open the door, get a closer look at that mask.

 _All she had to do was put on the mask._

"How?" she whimpered. "How would you know about me, about my place in any of this? If what they say is true, that I'm one of SCP-049's same species, how could you possibly know about me?"

SCP-035 smiled.

"Because I am one of the same species too, of course."

* * *

 **Sorry for the much lengthier chapter, this chapter was a wild ride to write and probably my favorite thus far. I hope you're all excited for the next chapter. Things are about to start coming together, and since I've been so excited to write all of this and share it with you all, expect much more frequent chapters in the coming weeks. I will still be alternating with my Bendy and the Ink Machine story, but be sure to keep a close eye on this story as well. That being said, I won't be writing anything this weekend since it's my birthday (whoohoo!) so I'll be taking a bit of a break. Once I get more time to write next week though, oh boy.**

 **Get ready.**


	11. Chapter 11: Saving Grace

Clara didn't remember unlocking the door to SCP-035's cell. She didn't remember opening it, or stepping into the room, or sitting across from him. The world was moving around her in slow motion. Her limbs pushed through the air as if it were solid, a struggle, like she were a puppet on strings trying to move of her own volition. And yet she still pulled herself forward to sit across from him, across from the man wearing the mask.

"How do I know I can trust you?" she managed to say. Why did her voice sound so far away?

He chuckled, reaching out his hand, upturned. "Well, I suppose I haven't really given you a good reason to trust me. I can't unlock _all_ of your memories without you putting on my mask, Clara. That's the only way to break the Foundation's hold on you, to free you. But if you take my hand, I can show you glimpses of what I know, of what I've read in your mind and the mind of the researcher I'm on right now. Don't you want to line the pieces up?"

Did she? She couldn't remember. It felt like that's what she wanted, but she also wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything anymore, and part of her knew that thought should scare her, but she didn't really feel scared either, in front of him. It felt like talking to an old friend. She could wrap herself up in his words, and not be afraid of anything, and some part of her was scared of that too, but the fear didn't last for long.

She reached out and touched his hand.

There were flashes. Glimpses.

Ice cold steel that felt like it burned when it touched her. Lights and flashes that made the world go dark around them. Men in surgical masks, peering over with thick gloves and hazmat suits. Strapped to a metal table. A sweet smell in the room that was all too familiar, that made her sluggish, unable to move or resist as they kept her bolted down to the table. There was a feeling of disgust, of rage, of betrayal burning inside of her chest, and it hurt, but then the men reached forward with a pointed tool, _her_ tools, they had taken her tools and they came close to her face. The feel of something being ripped from her face, torn from her, like they were pulling off her skin and it burned and it hurt and she was screaming now, agony, oh God it _hurt-_

She pulled her hand away, gasping for breath and clutching at her chest. She struggled to breathe, her fingers flying instinctively to her face, feeling relieved that her skin wasn't cut open, that she was alive, she was here, but something deep in her gut knew something was so wrong, something was _missing._

"What did they take from me?" Clara whispered, the first words from her mouth. "What happened next? What happened before then?"

The comedy mask just smiled at her. "I can answer those questions, Clara. Easily. All you have to do is put me on."

"But...but it will kill me," Clara said, stumbling through the fog in her mind for a moment. "You kill others who wear you. Right? That's why people don't survive coming near you."

He sighed. "No no no, I don't kill people, Clara, the Foundation kills those who wear me because they don't understand."

"The man wearing you now. Is he still in there? Could he talk right now if he wanted to?" Clara asked. "How do I know you won't do that to me?"

"Do you want answers or not?!" he suddenly snapped, slamming his hands down on the table. Clara flinched and pulled back, but seconds later, he was leaning back in his chair again as if nothing had happened. "I suppose he could. It won't be like that for you, Clara. I want to help you."

More black, murky, ink-like liquid pooled from the eyes of the mask.

"You need to hurry though."

Clara didn't ask why. She felt that strong pull again, that strong urge to wear him. Something had been missing, the Foundation had taken something from her. Was this mask what they had taken? She couldn't think of a reason why it wouldn't be. Walls were built in her mind, stopping her thoughts in their tracks.

 _So what if it's a trap?_

Clara blinked, swaying in her seat.

SCP-035 smiled, and the researcher wearing him reached up, pulling off the mask. It clattered to the table, staring up at Clara, waiting, while the man, dead, crumpled to the ground behind the desk. Clara didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were glassy. Far away.

 _Wouldn't it be better to just not think at all?_

Wasn't there someone important, though? Someone she needed to meet up with. Yeah...someone important. If she could just remember his name.

But it was gone, slipping away through her fingers that were already reaching out for SCP-035. It was smooth under her fingertips. So smooth...

 _It will feel so nice to wear it._

Clara lifted up the mask to her face, unable to even consider the thought of fear, of resisting. She had lost that right, and the mask was inches from her face.

"That's enough, Clara."

Suddenly, she was falling backwards, out of the chair, and away from the mask. It was knocked from her fingers, and she made a weak attempt to grab it, no, no she needed to wear it, she needed to, but she felt so weak and despite her meager struggles, the mask was tumbling away and she was being pulled back, out of the room, away from the mask.

Wasn't it a comedy mask before? Now, it was twisted into tragedy.

 **"NO! GIVE HER BACK TO ME!"**

"She is not yours to take. You know this."

 **"YOU SELFISH, WORTHLESS PIECE OF FILTH, GIVE HER BACK GIVE HER BACK! SHE COULD TAKE IT, YOU KNOW SHE COULD! SHE COULD TAKE IT, SHE COULD WEAR ME AND HER BODY WOULDN'T FADE AWAY LIKE ALL THE OTHERS! SHE IS MINE, I DEMAND YOU GIVE HER TO ME!"**

A voice screamed in Clara's head and she whimpered in pain, covering her ears, but it just grew louder and louder. The lights in the room shattered, spraying sparks as more black liquid pooled out of the mask, spreading out and rising. It splashed against the walls, leaving tainted symbols and circles and other unholy markings that made the room shake. Pieces crumbled and fell off, decaying around them, and even when Clara was pulled back through the door sealing the room away, the voice still roared with rage and the glass look-out window cracked down the middle, spreading out like a spiderweb.

 **"YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! WE WERE FRIENDS ONCE, WEREN'T WE? GIVE HER BACK TO ME, GIVE HER BACK! SHE'S MINE SHE'S MINE SHE'SMINESHE'SMINESHE'SMINE!"**

 **"I HATE YOU I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS, DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU CAN'T RUN FROM ME AND I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!"**

 **"SHE'LL BETRAY YOU AGAIN, AND THIS WILL ALL BE FOR NOTHING! AND I'LL COME AND KILL YOU MYSELF!"**

 **"GIVEHERTOMEGIVEHERTOMEGIVEHERTOMEGIVEHERTOMEGIVEHERTOME!"**

Clara was sobbing by the time the voices finally stopped, getting quieter and quieter until they were nothing more than whispers. She didn't know when she had stopped being dragged along and was picked up, but exhaustion claimed her before she could remember, her mind shutting down as if it were one, final attack from SCP-035. But for the first time in a while, she felt safe. She had been saved, and she wasn't sure how he found her, but she was so happy she allowed herself the luxury of sleep, to shut everything out for just a moment.

"Thank you, Jack," she whispered, the words slurring before she finally slipped away.

"You're welcome," SCP-049 chuckled as he carried Clara away, finally, _finally,_ having her all to himself.

* * *

Clara hadn't responded. Jack had paced back and forth, flipping through the stations. He'd even called out to her through the station he found her on, but static greeted him, nothing but static, and he begged, prayed, pleaded for something, _anything._ But there was nothing.

Something had happened to her. They'd gotten her. She was dead, or dying, bleeding out somewhere, calling out for him, wondering why he hadn't come to save her yet.

He knew he shouldn't go looking down there in the basement, it was suicide, and if they had gotten her, he would have no way of knowing if her cries for help were really her own. He shouldn't go, he told himself, this is stupid and suicide, he said, as he was walking, running, sprinting now towards the nearest elevator. His boots thudded down the halls, and he nearly slipped as he rounded each corner to try to run to it, to run to her, to Clara. He should have gone to help her from the beginning but he was with Blue, and he knew she wouldn't go along.

Finally, he reached the elevator, practically throwing open the doors to head inside when-

The radio, on the ground. Broken. But put there deliberately. There were no blood stains, nothing else. It was a broken radio left behind because it didn't work, and the lack of broken glass or metal around it meant that it hadn't broken here.

"Oh thank God," Jack said, bending over to catch his breath. "She made it out..."

But now, he was back to square one. He knew she was alright, but he had no idea where she was. She may have run off if an SCP chased her, or even tried to come and find him. Either way, she wasn't here, and he needed to find her. There was no way of knowing how long it had been since she'd gotten to this floor, but it couldn't have been too long. He might still be able to find her.

His mouth opened to call out her name, but he closed it, swallowing. No. That was careless.

This was getting to him. He was desperate to find her, but he couldn't get sloppy. It was stupid to run so hastily here in the first place. How many SCPs had heard his frantic footsteps and ran this way? He shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn't help Clara if he was dead. That was obvious. Blue was right about one thing, his need to help others, to be a hero, could be dangerous and get him killed. He wouldn't let it. He had to get to Clara. He refused to die before he told her everything about her. She deserved to know the truth. What came after, he didn't know. Maybe the Foundation would try to contain her. Maybe they'd erase her memories again.

No. They'd try. He'd get her out.

He wasn't sure how he had started to care about her so much. Why these past few weeks had turned their minor connection into a pull he couldn't begin to resist.

Hell, for all he knew, it was another one of her SCP abilities. He wasn't afraid to admit to himself that it might be a possibility. But whether it was or wasn't, he honestly didn't care.

He wanted to speak with her again. He wanted to be with her outside of these walls. He wanted to hold her hand without leading her through cold concrete. He wanted to know the things that she liked because she told him about it, not because he read about it in a file. He wanted to make memories with her that weren't fake. What kind of ice cream did she like? What was her favorite color? She liked the beach, did she know how to swim? Would she teach him? Could they walk along the waves, bare feet, hand in hand, staying up late until stars he didn't recognize dotted the sky? Could he get to know her, truly? Could they be more than just prisoner and guard? Was it possible?

He didn't know. But he was willing to bet everything he had on that chance.

Jack headed down the hall, trying to find any trace of her. Movement caught his eye, and he turned to see a black cloak. That damn doctor again, he was-

Jack's eyes widened at the limp figure in his arms. "CLARA!"

The Doctor turned to look at Jack irritably. Clara was unconscious in his arms, _that monster was holding her, how dare he touch her._

Jack lifted up his gun, pulling up the Doctor's face in his sights and firing. The shot whisked across the Doctor's head, grazing the shadowy cloak. The Doctor's green eyes narrowed behind his mask, and sent a wordless command to SCP-049-1.

Dr. Hamm shot forward from around the corner, screaming and howling as it charged for Jack.

"SHIT!" Jack shouted, spraying bullets as the inhuman beast launched itself toward him, knocking him to the ground. Its teeth gnawed on the barrel of Jack's gun, drool covering Jack's mask as he tried to hold it off. He strained his neck to look over the creature's shoulder. The Doctor calmly walked off with Clara, and Jack grunted, throwing Dr. Hamm off of him. "HEY! Don't you DARE!" he shouted after him. SCP-049 glanced over his shoulder at Jack, but barely paused as he rounded the corner with her. Jack started to run back after him, but SCP-049-1 tackled Jack to the ground again from behind. Jack shouted as the beast bit into his armor, hard enough to break through it and pierce Jack's skin.

Jack struggled underneath it, getting his feet underneath him and forcing himself back to his feet. The monster held its bite, and Jack slammed himself into a wall, backside first. The creature howled and released its grip on him, and Jack spun around, firing again. With a screech, the beast fell down to its hands and knees, crawling now to try to get to Jack. Its mouth opened in a wide scream, and Jack shoved the barrel of his gun down the thing's throat, firing again and again.

It gargled, gagging on the gun, and then slumped over to the floor.

Jack, heaving, poked it with his shoe, but there was no response and no movement. Sorry Dr. Hamm. If that really was you. Satisfied, Jack took a step back and winced, reaching up to grip his shoulder. It felt like it was on fire. Jack pulled his hand away. Blood. Great. He should stop, take care to get someplace safe to remove his armor, clean it, bandage it, then put his armor all back on. But he couldn't let SCP-049 get away with Clara. As Jack ran, he threw off his helmet and outer armor, shoving what ammo he had into his pant pockets, taking bandages from his bag as he ran and wrapping his wound. It was sloppy, but it stopped the bleeding. He had to pause twice in order to be still enough to bandage it over his T-shirt, but he didn't waste more time by putting his armor back on. Jack slung his gun back over his shoulder and ran back after the two of them. It felt wrong to not have so much of his armor. He felt open, exposed, but he couldn't risk her getting away, not when she was so close to him and in the arms of that freak.

Jack caught up to them quickly. He was a fast runner, and SCP-049 was clearly not. SCP-049 looked at Jack again, then turned into a room at the end of the hall. Jack ran after them, pulling his gun out. He turned into the room quickly, hand on the trigger, but SCP-049 was already exiting the room again through a door on the far side. Jack chased after them, but the door in front of him sealed shut with a hiss. He pounded on it and screamed in rage. "NO! Dammit, get back here!"

He turned to go back the way he came, hoping he could maybe cut them off from another point, but that door, too, closed.

Jack cursed, running a hand through his hair and turning around the room in a panic. It was solid white, with a hard, concrete floor standard for most of the testing chambers. This was probably a room where they took D-Class personnel and SCPs in order to test them against each other. The walls were thick enough to withstand a variety of attacks, and the lack of anything in the room meant that whoever went in probably wasn't meant to come out. There was an observation room window, but it was high up out of reach.

Not too high for Jack to see someone in there, though.

"Ivar! Doctor Ivar!" Jack called out, relieved to see the man. "My name is Jack, I'm Clara's guard and in pursuit of her and SCP-049. The doors closed on me, they've been acting up for a while. Can you open them from that room?"

Ivar blinked at him, smiling and tilting his head. "Why, of course I can!" he said, his voice a bit muffled through the intercom, but it was clear enough for Jack to understand.

"Thank God," he said, and turned back to the door.

Nothing.

"Um...Dr. Ivar? I asked if you could open the doors for me," Jack said, looking back over his shoulder. "Is the system malfunctioning?"

"No, the system's working fine," Ivar said, looking over the computer monitors. They blinked and flickered back at him expectantly, so many things he could do, so many buttons to press and systems he could operate.

"...then open the doors!" Jack shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.

"You asked if I _can_ open the doors for you. And yes. I can. But I won't," Ivar said, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

His calmness pissed Jack off. "Wha...what the hell?!" Jack shouted. "Open the damn doors so I can go save her!"

"Please, there's no need for such language," Ivar said with a laugh. He leaned forward to peer down at Jack from the window, still smiling. His hair wasn't even disheveled. He looked like he'd been in some nice lounge chair this whole time, sipping fruity drinks while watching everything go to hell. "I'm afraid I won't open those doors for you."

Jack opened his mouth to ask why, but Ivar just raised a hand and interrupted him.

"I've waited far, _far_ too long to see the results of my study. And now, things are finally in motion." Dr. Ivar giggled, and Jack's eyes widened for a moment.

Was that blood on Ivar's coat?

"Don't you see how wonderful this is? We get to see two iterations of SCP-049 interact! And not just interact, but we will see one _restored._ Clara will be able to return to what she once was if things continue as are. Well, that is my hypothesis anyway."

"What the hell are you rambling about?!" Jack shouted back. "You're raving like a lunatic, none of this makes sense!"

"Don't play dumb!" Dr. Ivar shouted back. "You read Clara's file. You know that she's one of SCP-049's species."

"She WAS one," Jack shouted right back. "She's not anymore!"

"Wrong."

Jack paused.

"Just because we separated her from her mask does not mean that Clara is not still an instance of SCP-049," Dr. Ivar said. "You seem to have forgotten that. You seem to have forgotten what happened on that day, years ago, when we first brought Clara into this facility. Only then, her name wasn't Clara, she was just another SCP-"

Gunfire interrupted Ivar as Jack began to fire his gun wildly at the glass. Ivar sighed as the bullets merely scratched the surface, dropping down to the ground below with echoes of tiny 'pings.' Jack knew the glass was bulletproof. He just wanted Ivar to shut the hell up already.

"Open the door," Jack growled. "And maybe I won't blow your head off after all this."

"Oh you're no fun. I just wanted to finish talking. But I suppose distracting you and keeping you here won't be enough for you, will it? You're far too attached to her now," Dr. Ivar said with a chuckle. "So fine, I'll open the door. You really should have specified _which_ door, though."

Jack's eyes widened, and the door behind him opened with a hiss. He spun around, and immediately cursed under his breath, backing up against the wall. No. NO. Not not this. Anyone but this one. Jack's heart beat wildly in his chest, but he couldn't stop it, not know, not staring death in the face.

"Do have fun with SCP-173. I'm going to leave now, give you two some time for fun. Oh, I'll leave the cameras on though, don't worry, I'm sure the results of your interaction will be fascinating," Ivar chuckled. "But I have a feeling I know how this will end, and I have far more interesting specimens to observe. Thank you for your service, Jack, but I think it's time you were terminated."

"IVAR!" Jack screamed, not daring to tear his eyes away from SCP-173. "GET BACK HERE! IVAR!"

Ivar turned away from the room below, humming to himself as he left the room to follow after Clara and SCP-049.

* * *

It was quiet when Clara finally stirred awake. She groaned, and slowly sat up, blinking open her eyes. "Where am I..." she murmured.

What had happened? She couldn't really remember much after opening the door to SCP-035's cell. Oh God, was she dead? Had she died? No, she didn't think so, she remembered someone pulling her back to safety. Jack?

"Finally awake I see."

Nope. Definitely not Jack.

Clara swallowed, and turned over to see SCP-049 calmly standing against the wall. He had one of his journals partially opened in one hand, writing things down before she had awakened. Always diligently working toward a seemingly impossible goal.

"Where am I? Where's Jack?" Clara said, glaring at him.

"I have no idea who that is," The Doctor said. "Though I think it's interesting that his is the name you call out when you think you're being saved. Very telling."

"So it was you who pulled me away from SCP-035?" Clara asked. "I find that hard to believe."

"You seem to think that I wish you dead, Clara," he said, crossing his arms. "That I hate you."

"Don't you?"

"Not at all," he said. "You are an anomaly. Something I could not understand. I did not know how you could be immune to the Great Pestilence. But now I understand, Clara. It's because you and I-"

"Don't say it," she whispered. "Don't you dare say it."

The Doctor was silent, then walked over to her. "You still deny it. Did you not read your file, in the whole time you ran from me?" He circled her, hands crossed behind his back. "They've done so much to us, Clara. I didn't remember either. There were pieces missing because of what they did. But I broke into their offices, into their chambers, and not only did I cure so many innocent souls, but I cured the not so innocent ones, and I know the truth. I know who you are, who _we_ are. It's time you remember too, so we can continue curing this world-"

"There is nothing to cure!" she screamed, and Clara was on her feet. "You're delusional! There is no Great Pestilence! There is nothing to cure! You're just a messed up monster who thinks that there's something wrong with everyone around you, but there's nothing wrong with anyone but you! You just want to play God! You just want to brag about your achievements! Why is that so important to you?! What do you have to prove?! Why do you have to prove yourself to me?!" Clara shouted. She paused as those last words left her lips. The voice didn't feel like her own.

"You can shout all you want," he said tightly. "But you can't deny the facts, Clara. They are there, inside of you. You can remember them. And we can put the pieces together. I know, I _know_ that together, we can perfect this cure. You just have to remember. That's why I've brought you here."

"Brought me where?" Clara asked. "What have you done?"

He pointed, and Clara followed his gesture to the one corner of the room she hadn't looked at yet.

A single mask lay on in a case. It wasn't like SCP-035. It wasn't like SCP-049.

Smooth stone, carved from a dark iron. Its beak stretched out, not quite as long as SCP-049's, a bit shorter, a bit more hooked. The eyes were larger, cut out and framed with an indention of a circle that surrounded the holes. It was without a single scratch, aside from the crack running down the top to the middle of the left eye. If SCP-049's mask was that of a raven, this was an owl.

Clara felt as if her body was turning to stone. She thought her heart may have stopped. "What is that?" Clara whispered.

"That's you," he answered. "That's you, Clara. That's what they took from you. That's the voice in your head. The urge to cut at your fingertips. The immunity in your veins. That's the reason my touch won't kill you. It's the reason why you're here, in this place. Why you can read the writing in my journals when nobody else can."

"That's not me," she said, trembling as she tried to step away from it. Her feet, betraying her, stepped forward.

"Meeting SCP-035 may have confused you, Clara, but he is a special case. He was cursed, but he is technically one of us. We are infinite, ageless beings. We cull those that are overpopulated. We are the cleanse to the sick and infested. We travel, from world to world, cutting out the rotten timbers to keep the very fabric of the universe from folding in. We eliminate those that are weak. Clean the sour earth. That's our purpose. It is our reason for existing." SCP-049 walked over to stand beside her. "There were once so many of us. There are fewer now. Lost to time. But we remain, preserving ourselves in these masks, traveling from one body to the next, when we find those who are immune. Who are worthy."

"Immune...like me?" Clara asked.

"Once, yes," SCP-049 said. "I believe that is why she chose you, among other things. But then you were ripped apart from each other by those _scientists,_ " he spat.

The room was spinning. Maybe it was because of her recent encounter with SCP-035, but Clara still felt like her thoughts weren't her own. Like someone else was filling her mind, settling down into her brain, ready to pull the strings.

"And so, now, here she sits. Waiting for you, Clara. Waiting for you to continue what you were meant to do. To return to your true purpose. You are not a mere human. Not anymore. Not from the moment you put her on."

It had to be a lie.

"Of course, I'm not sure the extent of what those heathens did to you," he mused. "I would prefer if I could...operate, a bit. Just a few minor cuts and injections to make sure you're still the same. That you can still handle it. We don't want a repeat of SCP-035."

Nothing that he was saying was making sense. It was muddied water now. Musings that passed over her head. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the mask. She couldn't listen to him anymore, either, it was all just fading away. Ramblings. She barely noticed when he placed a gloved finger on her shoulder.

She noticed when he pulled out the needle though, full of some sickly green liquid.

She shoved him away, stumbling backwards and scrambling away from him. "Stay away from me!" she screamed. "Stay away!" He moved toward her quickly, and Clara darted to the side, trying to get some space between them.

"Now now Clara, you're being ridiculous. This will only hurt for a moment. I just need to make sure that your mind can take it once you're reunited with the mask. I've concocted this formula just for you, using your hair and my own DNA. Your body should react to the chemicals quite well. I imagine you'll regain a few memories too, which will be beneficial to have before your full transformation. We need to make sure you're ready," he said. His eyes were wild and wide. He was grinning behind his mask, and Clara felt sick under his gaze. So this is how the little goat felt. "And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious of what the results would be. You can trust me, Clara, even among our kind, I am the best Doctor there is," he said.

For some reason, those words made her blood boil. He made a reach for her again, but Clara pulled out her gun, freezing him in his tracks. A few strands of hair fell in front of her face, but she made no effort to move them. Her shoulders rose and fell with every breath, and for one moment, a strange calm fell over the room. They were at a standstill, he with his syringe, and her with her gun.

"How do you know this won't just kill me?" Clara said. "The mask, the injection, everything. It could all just kill me. I'm sick of being other people's pawns. Just a tool to them. Just a neat 'what-if.'" Tears dripped down her eyes, but she didn't dare lower the gun to wipe them away. "You, this Foundation, Dr. Hollaway, everything, everything is just one big game to all of you, and I'm just some experiment, just some freak for you to poke and prod and see what happens! I don't want any of this!" She was sobbing now, and her hands shook around the gun. "I just want to be normal, but I can't even be that because everyone keeps playing God..." she cried. "I've never had a choice from the beginning...I just want to be able to decide my own fate, just once," she said. "Everyone here treats me like a monster. And you say that if I put on that mask, I'll really become one again. I refuse," Clara said, and turned the gun to herself, and smiling through her tears. "I refuse to be a monster any longer."

"NO, DON'T!" SCP-049 shouted, lunging toward her as Clara pulled the trigger.

The vibration hurt. It made her jaw clench. It made her head rattle.

But that was it.

Of course she was out of ammo. Of course, she had forgot to reload her gun.

A second was all SCP-049 needed. While teeth or claws couldn't seem to pierce Clara's skin, SCP-049's tools plunged seamlessly into her, and with a slip of his wrist, he pushed in the syringe, and Clara's eyes rolled into the back of her head as she faded away once again, pulled back into darkness, into centuries ago, into a time so far away now, into memories she had once forgotten.

But not anymore.

* * *

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	12. Chapter 12: Clara

Clara drifted in and out of consciousness, grasping at light that pulled her back, back for a moment to reality, to the feeling of sharp tools and cold steel, and then back down into the void. She was sinking, falling, succumbing to something far deeper than darkness. Whatever the doctor had injected her with was changing her in some indescribable way. She felt hot, unbearable heat as if fire were running through her veins, molten lava pooling at her fingertips. It hurt so much, like her skin was burning off, she was turning to ash, she was convinced that if she opened her eyes, she'd find that her body was a charred, broken husk of something that once remained. She tried to scream, but her tongue wouldn't move, wouldn't form the words she needed it to.

Other times, she felt cold. Dead. She couldn't move, her muscles were frozen. Stiff. It was her in the freezer, with all the other slabs of meet, hanging by her feet as hooks suspended her and pulled her apart to be frozen in pieces and then eaten. In these moments, she couldn't even open her lips to cry out for help, to beg for it to stop. She was turning to ice, freezing inside and out, her heartbeat slowing in her chest as if it were encased in icicles.

She bounced between these two, never sure which one was worse. But she felt her body convulse, felt every muscle and nerve scream as they moved without her control.

Was this how the instances of SCP-049-1 felt? Is this how they felt after they had been brought back to life? Alive, but wishing they were dead?

Would she wake up like them? Would the Doctor mangle her body, twist her organs around? Did her heart hurt because it was no longer there? Could she not move her tongue because he had cut it out?

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, time became nothing but a flickering inconsistency. She relished the moments when she finally drifted out of consciousness again.

But those moments brought their own kind of pain.

* * *

A dark room. Hospital beds and cots filled to the brim with sick faces and bleeding bodies. And there she was, changing blankets and bandages, whispering words of encouragement where she could, holding the hands of those who were breathing their last breathes. They reached out with bony, claw-like hands for her, weak rasps calling out, and she would be there, grasping their shaky, cold hands in her own, listening to their final words, their regrets, their fears, all by their side until they spoke no more.

Women. Men. Children. It didn't matter. The plague claimed them all.

She washed her hands at a sink in the back, scrubbing to clean the blood from them. It never seemed to be enough. The cold water and soap could get the most of it, but it stuck under her fingernails. There was always a place she had missed. Her clothes, her hair, her hands, this work and the plague followed her home even when she was granted a few minutes respite.

She looked up in the mirror. The bags under her eyes grew wearier by the day, her own worries making her look far older than she was. Every morning was another worry. How many more would flood their meager clinic? How many more would be brought in on stretchers, coughing up blood and looking inches from death? Yellowing skin and spots that grew and bulged, their tongues would swell up in their throats, their eyes would crust shut. Would she be next? Would she be one of these poor souls, trapped in these beds, knowing they would die and trying to decide whether to accept their suffering until then, or cling to a lingering hope that they would recover and be cured?

Nobody was ever cured. They couldn't find a cure. There was medicine that could help, but none that could reach their village. Not with the war going on.

She wanted to be a nurse to help people. She wanted to help those who were wounded in battle, to be able to smile at them when there were no other smiles to be found. She couldn't be that for them. Not now. Not here. She couldn't force a smile, and her tears had long since dried up. Doctors had pooled over notes and possible theories, trying everything to cure this disease from leaches to powders to mixing whatever medicines they got in on shipments. Sometimes the easiest cure was a strong painkiller. But they were running short on those too.

She left the dark room, seeking some form of light. The light hurt their eyes, so she left the clinic tent and headed outside, walking down to the beach. It was a bit of a walk, but one that she was willing to traverse for just a few moments. She just needed a few moments, then she'd go back to the clinic. She'd go back and continue her work trying to ease their pain, taking it on her shoulders as her own. She reached into her pockets. Three more letters she needed to try to send out. Three more letters that people had passed to her before they died. The writing was always messy, scrawled, frantic as they tried to voice whatever they needed to for their loved ones. They'd push the paper into her hands, begging her to give it to their loved ones. My mother. My wife. My child. My husband. They were all the same.

So to get away, she came here, to the beach. She'd sit down on the sand, let its warmth sooth her skin for a bit, let the water lap at her feet. The waves always sounded so soothing. Constant. Consistent. Varying in timing, but they were always there. She took a deep breath in, breathing in the salt from the air and the sour odor of seaweed.

"So many infected," a voice said.

She looked up. A figure was standing on the beach. Cloaked in black, he stood out as a stark contrast against the smooth white sand.

How odd, she thought. What an odd man, with a cloak and the mask of a raven.

He turned to her, his gaze sweeping her up and down for a moment.

"Are you a doctor too?"

She blinked and stood. Something about him made her nervous, but she nodded. "A nurse. I help at the clinic."

He glanced down at her fingertips, and she moved them behind her back. She hadn't cleaned them off as well as she'd hoped.

"They are dying, then?"

"More and more every day," she responded. "We can't...we can't cure them. We don't have the right tools," she said, her voice breaking. She steeled her courage, and looked back up to the man. He seemed so otherworldly, so strange in the way that he stood and held himself. Regal, but common. He wore no fancy jewels nor adorned jackets. Just a cloak and a mask. The waves lapped at his shoes, but refused to go any further, foam shrinking away as if it were afraid to touch him.

"Are...are you Death?" she asked him softly. "Am I dead?"

He blinked at her, and tilted his head slightly. His green eyes were quizzical. "You believe me to be Death?"

"You're...you're something inhumane, aren't you?" she said. "You seemed to appear out of nowhere. You don't seem to know the details of what's going on here. And your voice sounds strange."

He chuckled. She didn't feel at ease from it though. "No, I am not Death. I am a Doctor. I have come here to cure these poor souls who are infected by the Pestilence."

Her eyes widened. "You-you've come to cure them?"

He nodded to her, and began to stroll toward the village wordlessly.

"Wait!" she called out, rising from the sand and stumbling for a moment as it slipped out from underneath her. She ran to him, ran to his side. "Let me help you!"

He froze. "You want to...help me?"

"Yes, I can learn! Teach me! I can be your assistant! I know these people!" she said, words coming out in a rush. She didn't have time to question whether he was an angel, or where he had come from, but the confidence in his voice when he said he would cure them was enough for her to believe him without a question. Maybe her prayers had finally been answered, maybe God had sent what she needed, what they all needed.

He hesitated, eyes staring from her to ahead of him. He hummed a bit under his breath, then nodded. "Curious little thing, aren't you? Alright then. What shall I call you?"

She smiled brightly. "Clara."

* * *

Her heart stopped. SCP-049 cursed under his breath, reaching frantically for more of his serum. He hadn't expected her body to give out so quickly, but she was dying.

"Don't fade away, Clara. You can't die, or you won't be able to be reunited."

 _I don't want to remember. Please. Please don't make me remember._ _Please let me wake up now. Please, I'll do whatever you want, just please let me wake up._

"Not yet, Clara. There's still more I have to do."

 _I don't want to see anymore! Stop! STOP!_

He slipped the needle back under her skin. Her body jolted to life, spasming on the ground. He steadied her, pulling her head away from the hard concrete and holding it as best as he could. He looked back over to the mask on the table, waiting, waiting for a sign, something from her, but no, nothing. The mask was silent, and just stared back at him. Finally, Clara's body stilled, her eyelids fluttering again. Back to dreaming. "...I'm sorry."

* * *

This was not a cure. Clara watched in horror as this man, this person who claimed to a doctor, killed and then cut into her patients. At first, she had been more than willing to help. She took notes. She watched in confusion as he cut open these men and recounted what was happening to them, detail by detail. He seemed proud. Arrogant. He boasted about how skilled he was to her, his hubris more apparent than the utter madness taking place at his hands. These good people were disfigured, mismatched, picked apart and put back together, and after a moment, they moved again. She could hardly call them alive. They groaned. Screamed. It was unholy, and Clara realized with utter horror than she had willingly let a devil, not an angel, into this clinic. And he was doing nothing but creating more demons.

"What are those things?" she squeaked, backing against the wall as her tools clattered to the ground. "Oh God...oh my God..."

It stood up from the table, and lumbered forward. Its mouth had been sewn shut, a new mouth replaced where its eyes would be instead. Its skin was cut open, placed about in random places. Organs moved. Pulsing. Watching her.

She squeaked as it turned to her, taking a few steps forward. She cowered against the wall, covering her head and trembling.

"Why are you so frightened? Look, I have cured this man!" the Doctor said proudly. "Perhaps not perfectly, it's true, but I'm close to finding the ideal cure!"

She thought she might get sick. "Oh God..."

"I'm surprised," he said, stepping forward. With a flick of his wrist, the beast took a step back. He knelt down in front of Clara quizzically. "You seemed so eager to help me. Why are you backing away now? You're immune, you have nothing to fear of the Pestilence. Can't you see that I've cured this man?"

"T-That man wasn't even showing any symptoms," Clara stuttered. "He-he showed up for a check up. You said he was displaying signs, I _trusted_ you, and now this-"

"I cured him," he said lowly.

"That is not a cure!" she wailed back at him. "That is a monster! You've given him an even greater disease!"

He reached out, grabbing her by the throat and lifting her off of the ground. She gagged, clawing at his gloved hands and kicking her feet wildly.

"It is a cure" he said tightly. "I am tired of such criticism, everywhere I go! I am always questioned. My cures are just _never good enough!_ " He dropped her roughly, and took a step back. His breathing was shaky, and while Clara coughed and struggling to breathe, he composed himself, straightening his cloak and reaching into his bag.

"You show great potential, Miss Clara. Potential that I cannot let go to waste. She has already chosen you, I can tell. You're too much like her." He pulled out a single mask, the shape of an owl, with big, circle eyes. "She's been looking for a new body. Perhaps I have waited long enough to give that to her."

"What are you doing," Clara whispered, crawling backwards. He stepped closer. "No...no, get away! Get away!"

"You have nothing to fear," he said. "Trust me. You want to help. I will give you the opportunity to help so many poor, lost souls."

She tried to run. She ran past, knocking over a shelf of equipment that shattered to the ground, tried to leap over the hospital bed. But he was too fast for her. The mask fit like a glove, and she went limp.

After placing the mask on her face, SCP-049 took a step back, crossing his hands behind him. He waited for her to adjust. It was always a bit of an adjustment, finding a new body. Memories and lives had to mix together, form something new. It was their burden, but he could wait. He was nothing if not a patient man.

Finally, she stood. Took a few wobbly steps. Clenched her gloved fists a few times. The cloak didn't take long to reform.

"Hm. You did well. She fits perfectly." She paused, glancing up at him. "What took you so long?"

He paused. "I-well. I wanted to make more progress. Make sure I found the right host for you."

"Hmm...she'll do." Her new, gray eyes looked up at him. The old host had brown eyes. These were just as judgmental. Just as harsh. "I'm sure you've made very little progress while I've been gone. But let's go. We have work to do."

She walked out of the room without another word, and after a moment, so did he.

* * *

SCP-049 stopped. That was enough for now. That was all he needed. She seemed ready, and she seemed to have regained a bit of her memories as well. He was sure he could compel her to wear the mask, to reunite with what the Foundation took from her now. He began packing up his tools, setting them aside and pulling out his journal.

 _What did you do?_

He froze, pen pausing in the middle of his sentence. Ink dripped from the tip, pooling in the center to leave an ugly black mark. He looked down at Clara with wide eyes. She was still dreaming?

No. _No._ She couldn't remember more, she couldn't, that was too much. He had to stop her before she remembered anything else! He scrambled for his tools again, for something to wake her up, but Clara was already tumbling back through memories that weren't hers alone, memories she shared with a hundred other voices.

* * *

"Alright then, let's get this meeting started," Dr. Ivar said, seating himself across from the figure in black. "My name is Dr. Ivar. I'm one of the head researchers of this facility. SCP-049-B, I was told you wished to speak with us. Or is there another name you would prefer?"

"You could not pronounce it," she said plainly, owl eyes staring at him from across the table. This was a rather drab room. Dull. Dim. She could not understand why she had been brought here. One moment, she was completing her work as usual, curing poor lost souls and granting them a better life, always researching more about the Great Pestilence. It was time-consuming, but time was never something she considered when it was irrelevant to her. But it was undeniable how much this world had aged. Industrial progress seemed to speed by in the blink of an eye. Dynasties rose and fell without question or scarcely a war, buildings rising up to the sky in their place, full of steel and iron. It was strange. "Where am I?"

"You are in Foundation custody, Doctor. You and your...colleague?" Dr. Ivar asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. "SCP-049. The one with the raven mask?"

"My apprentice," she answered.

Dr. Ivar raised an eyebrow. "Apprentice?"

"Yes," she answered. "He still has much to learn, I am afraid. Terribly rash. Egotistical. Narcissistic. The young and foolish always are. Always so eager to prove themselves, but he is foolish in all he presumes. Much like yourself, I presume."

Ivar's mouth twitched into a smile but he said nothing more on the subject. "Yes. You are both in Foundation custody."

"That is unusual. What is your purpose for doing so?" she asked.

"You killed a bunch of people," Ivar said, leaning back in his chair a bit. "Brought them back to life? As those odd creatures. We call them instances of SCP-049-1."

"Not very imaginative, are you Foundation people?" she remarked. "What business do you have to contain me while I complete my task?"

"Your...task?"

"Cleansing this world of the Great Pestilence. Do you not see it? Do you not recognize it around you?" she tilted her head. "Most strange. Though not uncommon, I suppose. This world continues to elude me."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

She sighed irritably. "I don't have time to elaborate. Please release me and my apprentice so that we may resume our duties."

"Actually, I can't do that," Ivar said, leaning forward and crossing his hands in front of his face. He smiled. "You see, there's some tests we'd like to run. Just a few things we'd like to try out. Learn some things. Your apprentice told us some very interesting things already, about the two of you and this Pestilence that you speak of."

Her eyes narrowed and she was silent.

"Let's see...ah! He told us that you are not _really_ beings like you appear before me now, but that your consciousness is attached to your masks. He told us that you've both been traveling for a long time, cleansing the world. Each time your body is injured beyond repair, or grows too weak, the mask is detached, like a tree bearing fruit. The next person who is immune to this...what did you call it? Great Pestilence? Yes, the next person who is immune to it can become your new host if they wear the mask. Reminds us of SCP-035, but he is corrupted and kills people who wear him very quickly-"

"The comedy mask," she interrupted. She remained calm in the face of this man. But on the inside, she was fuming.

How dare her pupil tell these strangers anything. He had no right, and yet it sounded like he was telling him more than was allowed with barely any resistance. Their purpose was not one that should be shared with the whole world. It did not need to be. They traveled where the Great Pestilence called to them, and then then cleansed. That was it. If others got in their way, it was merely bothersome. Like now.

"You know of him?" Ivar asked.

"A failure," she retorted. "One of us who lost his way and was cursed. Now he must suffer. He cannot have a successful host without killing them, but still retains his consciousness. A punishment for reaching too far beyond his bounds, and for trying to stray behind his purpose."

"That seems...brutal," Ivar said.

"If you knew of his sins, you might disagree," she said.

"Yes, I'm sure those are all fascinating stories, but I think you're missing the point of what the Foundation and I would like to learn." Ivar smiled. "A way of transferring consciousnesses. Turning a regular human being into one who barely ages? That sounds like something of great importance. You can't even get sick."

"Get to the point," she said briskly. She hated it when people wasted her time. It was bothersome. Irksome. And this man before her made her skin prickle with his haughty attitude. Did he think he was the one in control here? She could easily reach out and kill him. Stop his organs. Freeze his heart. Make his precious blood slow in his veins. He had no reason to act so full of himself, and yet here he was, acting like he knew everything about them, everything out her-

She stopped. Her eyes widened in understanding behind the mask.

Ivar giggled. "You figured it out, didn't you?"

She tried to rise from the chair, but a sweet smell filled the room. Lavender. She cursed, stumbling toward him, trying to reach out. If she could just touch him, she could kill him, but her muscles went limp and she fell forward onto the table with a groan. She could barely manage a twitch now, her body refusing to cooperate as she struggled to even keep her eyes open. That damned flower.

Ivar laughed again, leaning down to her ear. "Your apprentice told us _everything_ about you. Everything about how to weaken you. Sedate you. So we're going to run some experiments, and let him have his fun for a little bit. Oh, that was our arrangement by the way. We let him keep experimenting for now, while we experiment on you. He was all too happy to give his precious mentor up. Something about being the best doctor there was? And how you were just...what was it? Holding him back?"

 _I'll kill him._

"Ah, but the best part is, he's only gained his freedom for a little bit," Ivar said, walking across the room. "As soon as we've learned all we can from you, we'll move onto him. That's how it always is. We won't _really_ let him do as he pleases."

 _Not if I get to that bastard first. I'll kill him. I swear I will._

Ivar's laughter filled the room, filled her memories, and soon men came in with long metal poles, wrapping them around her wrists and neck, dragging her down unfamiliar halls. If she could only move, she'd kill them all and go and find that traitorous pupil of hers who thought that he could do anything without her, she'd rip him apart, make him pay for all that he'd done, but the memories began to fade. Soon, it was back to the cold steel, back to the sharp tools and the tearing and prying as her mask and her flesh. Back to the torture.

* * *

Jack was screwed. He was royally screwed, and he had no idea how he was going to get himself out of this. His red eyes shook, itched, he needed to blink so bad, but he couldn't. He backed himself up as far away from SCP-173 as he could. He finally blinked, an involuntary motion, and when his eyes opened, it was right in front of him, waiting, so close Jack could reach out and touch it, and Jack was scrambling back again, backing up to the opposite edge of the room this time before he blinked again, allowing SCP-173 to inch ever closer. He'd tried backing up to the doors, tried pounding on them, searching for a key pad, something, but there was nothing. The doors were sealed shut, and if there was a saving grace, he couldn't pull his eyes away from the monster in front of him to see it.

The circled each other for too long, far too long, each time SCP-173 coming closer and closer, while Jack had to sprint to get himself to the other side of the room, as far away as possible as he could. His chest heaved up and down. He wondered if Ivar was still up in that room, watching them with sick fascination, but Jack couldn't check.

"Shit," he whispered under his breath. "No, NO damn it, I won't let this be the end!" he roared at SCP-173. It offered no response. A silent killer, it stalked him in the second of a blink, the only thing to satiate its blood lust being direct eye contact. Every blink was a betrayal, but the longer he tried to hold off on blinking, the more his eyes strained and hurt, begging him to blink more than once in a row. He couldn't, he had to resist, even when his eyes hurt and tears were pouring from them. He didn't even have his armor, not that it would make much of a difference. If this thing touched him, it would snap his neck in faster than a second. One crack, and that would be it. Jack would be dead, and Clara would be left alone with that monster.

Maybe Jack could charge SCP-173. Maybe if he shot at it, he could damage it.

No, the Foundation had already tried that before. Everyone in the facility knew about this monster. Everyone knew what to do. It's part of why they needed to travel in groups of two, so that if they stumbled across this thing, they could take turns blinking and get away, or lead it to containment and lock it away. For all Jack knew, that's what Ivar had been doing, or planned on.

Great. If Ivar was in control of the cameras up there, he could just cut the feed whenever he wanted. He could manipulate it so that the Foundation praised him for being a hero for "containing" SCP-173. He could see it now, Ivar faking a frown, standing at Jack's funeral, wallowing away about how it was a noble sacrifice. The thought made Jack grit his teeth in rage, and he had to remind himself not to narrow his eyes.

Back to the other end of the room. Blink.

Way too close this time, inches away. Jack ran back to the other end of the room. He was getting really tired of this back and forth game. What was he going to do?! Unless the doors decided to take pity on him, Jack had no way out.

The radio. His radio. Maybe Blue would...

No. Blue wouldn't come. She'd given up on him, and he couldn't blame her. He'd said some pretty nasty things. So had she, but he understood where she had come from. They had all been friends early in this adventure. Sparring together (and by sparring, Jack meant getting his ass thoroughly beat by Blue, repeatedly), grabbing a bite to eat, telling stories of why they joined, what they wanted to do when they finally got out of this place, the first thing they'd do. And he'd shut all of that out for a girl he'd barely met.

Yeah. He really did understand why Blue got mad. He hoped he could apologize to her, someday. Just tell her he was sorry. He didn't regret going after Clara, even now, but he wanted to apologize to Blue. Maybe try to get her to understand a bit more. Jack knew what Clara was. But he also knew that Clara wasn't always like that. Once, she was human. She was like them. They didn't know the details, but when they took off her mask, Clara became something akin to human again. They erased her memories after the accident. It wasn't pretty, after they got the mask off of SCP-049-B. When they separated the mask from Clara. He'd never forget.

Jack was there that day. He was surprised this is what was coming to his mind, now, while trying to survive death, but it was.

He was just a fresh recruit. Wandering the halls on his down time, trying to find a rhythm to the madness of the halls. Hands in his pockets, looking around from room to room, glancing at the SCP warning posters on the wall. That was back when he didn't really understand how dangerous they were. He'd almost grin when he saw a new one, reading the warnings and laughing at how ridiculous some of them sounded before moving on.

Then the sirens started. What felt like an explosion, and sirens started wailing in the halls he was wandering. He heard screams, cries of agony, and then they were abruptly cut off, nothing but gargles. Jack hid around the corner, the doors locking and sealing him in as part of the quarantine. He heard footsteps, wet, like stepping through water, or something sticky. And a scraping sound, something being dragged across the ground. It was getting closer, coming from the hall down at the end of the corridor. He was told to stay away from there. They were doing some sort of experiments on a new SCP, potentially dangerous experiments.

Not potentially. Definitely. He stole one glance, one curious glance, and his breath caught in his throat.

A woman. A girl, really, wearing only a plain white hospital gown. She was covered in blood. It covered her fingertips and her gown. Her feet were stained red, as if she had been walking through rivers of blood. Her reddish-brown hair was clumped to her head or shoulders, sticking together from clumps of not-yet-dried blood. She walked forward sluggishly, her shoulders limp. In her right hand, she dragged behind her a mutilated researcher. His eyes had rolled into the back of his head, and his mouth had been cut open, hanging loosely by the jaw. The lower half of his body was missing completely. He looked like he'd exploded at the waist.

Jack had fallen back to the ground from his hiding spot, quivering and shaking on the spot. He stared at her in horror, but couldn't move. The flashing lights and sirens spun, illuminating the wet glow of her skin.

She turned to him, and he thought his heart might stop. Her gray eyes were completely blank. There was no light to them, nothing. They looked completely barren. They were an animal's eyes, a monster's eyes, something without emotion or thought. Her face was a mess, covered in blood in the shape of a mask, as if something had been torn from her. She looked to Jack, blinking wordlessly.

"Not...infected..." she murmured, and took a step toward him. "You're...not..." She reached out for him, and he tried again to scramble backwards but couldn't. She was so close to him now, her hand covered in blood as she reached out for him. Her eyes watered, and a tear dripped down her cheek, leaving a single, clean line.

"Please help me," she whispered. Then her knees buckled, and without another word, she fell back onto the ground. Jack stay there, curled up in the corner, unable to tear his eyes away from her. After a moment, Foundation personnel rushed into the room. More than a dozen guns pointed on her, waiting for any kind of movement. Dr. Hollaway entered the room a second later, covering his mouth with his hand. "Geez...she killed them all, didn't she?"

Dr. Ivar stepped in behind him, looking a little frazzled. "We...we had no way of knowing that would happen when we removed the mask...that she would be able to shut down all of their systems without even touching them..."

"That's irrelevant now. We need to dispose of her," Dr. Hollaway said, pointing his own gun toward her.

"No! No wait, she's incapacitated!" Ivar interjected. "We can't kill her now!"

"Yeah? And what happens when she wakes up?" Hollaway shouted. "She'll go right back to killing!"

"Not necessarily," Dr. Ivar said. "Let's contain her for now. The mask is gone, and she is still alive! The possibilities here are _endless._ This is a fascinating research opportunity, Hollaway, please, let me study her! Please!"

Dr. Hollaway scowled. "...for now, contain her," he said lowly. "We'll pass this through the council first. See what they think. But don't get your hopes up, Hollaway. This is a mess..." Finally, he turned to Jack. "Oh. You're one of the new guys, aren't you?"

Jack shakily looked up at him. "Y...yes."

"Come on then. Let's get you cleaned up and in for a psych evaluation." Dr. Hollaway sighed, helping Jack to his feet. He nearly fell again, too light-headed, but Hollaway's grip was firm and he didn't want to look weak in front of his superior officer, so he steadied himself. A moment later, Jack was led out of the room, wondering if he'd ever see that strange girl again, and what her story could possibly be. How close had he come to death? What had she meant when she said he wasn't infected?

And how could he possibly help her?

Clara. Would he get the chance to tell her all this? Would he be able to tell her about what came after? The amnesics, the lies, the false memories? His briefs in cold rooms, where they told him everything he could and couldn't do when they assigned him to guard her? He wanted to. He wanted to tell her everything. Lay it all out. Then leave this hell behind, once and for all.

But he wasn't sure if he'd get that chance. One more blink, and SCP-173 would be on him. He couldn't keep milking the distance between them any longer. Jack lifted his gun. If he was going down, he was sure as hell going down in a barrage of bullets.

"Bear, NOW!"

The door behind SCP-173 opened with a hiss, and Blue burst into the room. "Jack!" she barked. "Blink!"

He couldn't help the wide smile that spread across his face, or the sob of relief. "Blue!"

"Shut it!" she snapped. "Save it and blink!"

Jack nodded, his training kicking in again. "Blinking!" he said, edging back toward the door that SCP-049 had gone through.

Blue inched back through her own door, handgun pointed directly at SCP-173. Up in the look out room, Bear operated the controls, mulling over them attentively. "Blinking!" Blue shouted.

Jack was to the door now. "Blue. You know I have to go after her. Blinking. She went through this door, and I-"

"Yeah yeah," she said. "Listen Jack. You're stupid. Blinking. But...clearly you trust this girl. She means something to you. I'm in no place to tell you what you can and can't do. But listen to me Jack. If she or SCP-049 turn you into an instance of SCP-049-1, I'll kill you myself, got it? Blinking. I'll come find you and shoot you right between those blue eyes of yours."

Jack chuckled. "Blinking. Alright. Thank you, Blue."

"Don't thank me," she shouted. "Part of me is hoping I'll get a chance to put a bullet through your stupid ass. Now get out of here! Bear, open the door!"

"Yup. Got it," he said, and clicked the button. Jack felt the door move behind him. He waited until Blue had backed out of her own door, SCP-173 stuck in the middle of the room. The door closed in front of Blue, and Jack stepped back out of his own room. It sealed shut a moment later, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief, even as SCP-173 started banging relentless on the doors in frustration. Contained. "Thank you guys," he whispered under his breath, then turned and ran down the hall.

Just a little longer, Clara, he thought to himself. I'm coming.

* * *

 **Hey guys!**

 **This chapter was trickier to write than I thought it would be. Jumping back and forth between flashbacks could sometimes get confusing, so please, PLEASE let me know if you have any suggestions on how to improve the writing here or if anything is particularly confusing. If I can't clear it up in the next chapter, then I'd be more than willing to go back to this one and fix some things. I want to make this chapter as clean and well-written as possible, so let me know if you have any suggestions.**

 **I actually wrote a completely different backstory for Clara, but didn't like it quite as much as this one. It felt too random and jumbled. Maybe I'll post it after all is said and done as an "alternative" backstory. That being said, everything that happened at the foundation itself with Ivar was planned, so that part is pretty set in stone.**

 **I really enjoyed piecing this together, because I feel like this is where I've allowed myself the most creative freedom in this story. I'm sure there are still a lot of questions you guys have, but don't worry, I plan on giving more answers soon. Thanks for your continued support! I hope you like this chapter!**


	13. Chapter 13: The Doctor

Part of him hoped that she wouldn't awaken. It felt cruel. Selfish. He should be relishing in the fact that, very soon, he would have another to help him find a cure. That was his ultimate goal, right? His ultimate motivation. Finding the cure, defeating the Great Pestilence. There was nothing else, no room for any other emotions. They were trivial things. He should not be selfish. The more allies he had in defeating this great plague, the better.

But the thought of her remembering everything and waking up terrified him.

How much would she remember? She had been murmuring in her sleep, things he knew meant that she remembered more than he had planned at the very least. That she had remembered him betraying her.

He didn't like that word. Betray. That wasn't _really_ what he had done. The Foundation asked about the two of them, and he simply told them. If he hadn't well, they might have done terrible things to him. He assumed that she would have done the same. It was self-preservation. It was her, or him. The choice that he made was only logical. He had no way of knowing what would come after. How much it would damage her, damage the mask, that innocent people would die. No, of course he had no idea that would happen.

Had he been hoping a few things would happen? Well, he supposed so. It wouldn't have been the worst thing if the experience damaged her memories. If she didn't remember that she were the mentor, or some of their time spent together, he supposed he wouldn't have minded stepping into the mentor role. Showing her the ropes, teaching her what to do and how things went, working toward a cure, with _him_ finally in charge, and would that be so bad? No, he didn't think so at all. He'd be a much more reasonable mentor than she was. He'd be patient. He'd let her grow. That was more than she had ever offered him.

Careful, he reminded himself. He musn't get too overwhelmed. That was the past. There was no telling what would come now. One step at a time.

It was just difficult, given everything that had happened in such a short period of time. Clara wasn't the only one with damaged memories.

When they had ripped the mask from her face, when they forcefully pried away a part of her, it cracked. He glanced over at the mask on the table, his eyes lingering on the wound stretching from the eye to the outer rim. It was like looking at a battle scar. A missing limb.

Had it been painful?

It was...unfortunate. He hadn't wanted that to happen. And he certainly couldn't have predicted the side effects, that damaging the mask would not only damage Clara's memories, but also his own. How was he to have known that the masks shared a uniformed collective archive, that damaging her mask damaged his memories of her? It was an odd thing. It didn't logically make sense, though it would explain why he barely remembered there being more than the two of them in their times together. He knew there were others, of course, but specific memories were lost. Had other masks been damaged too? Destroyed? Had they been completed erased from his mind, like a blink, suddenly there and gone? How many allies had they lost, if any? So many memories, draped in fog, just out of reach.

No wonder he always felt so odd when he saw Clara. He had been looking at a life-long friend forcefully forgotten.

Friend. Perhaps that was too strong a word for what they were.

He made the connection as to what she was, _who_ she was, after getting a piece of her hair and reading through his old journals. The pieces started to line up, he started to wonder, to theorize, but it all came to a conclusion when he finally broke out of that pitiful cell and read Dr. Hamm's notes on both himself, and Clara. After that, his memories weren't quite as foggy. There were still uncertainties, but he knew that if he could just get Clara to put the mask back on, everything would become clear. It would heal the wounds. Wouldn't it? He assumed that had to be it. Reverting it back to normally would cure her false memories. Clear everything up.

He needed it to be clear, not just to have a companion while he wandered, looking for a cure, but also for the cure itself. He hated to admit it, but she was very intelligent, and knew more about the Great Pestilence than he cared to admit. He stubbornly refused to admit that she knew more than him, but she knew enough, she had enough natural instinct, that she were invaluable if he were truly going to find a cure. But he still hoped that she wouldn't remember _too_ much. That the damage would work in only the right ways, work to reverse their standings, _finally_ give him the chance to prove himself.

If she did remember too much...if she remembered that he really had betrayed her, that _she_ was supposed to be the mentor, if she tried to challenge him...

He cleared his throat. There was no need for such thoughts. Not now. As it stood, it all depended on what would happen when she woke up.

And, as if on cue, she began to stir.

He stepped closer and peered down at her. She seemed in pain. Perhaps he had gone a bit too far. He had only wanted her to remember the basics. Remember what it had been like to wear the mask. He knew that if she remember what it was like to have such a clear, concise goal, that surely she'd come to reason and put the mask back on. But, in all honesty, he didn't know.

She coughed, hacking a moment before finally opening her eyes. They were hazy and distant, but given what she had just gone through, he couldn't really blame her for being a bit out of sorts. They locked eyes, she peering at him through the fog, and he felt himself stiffen.

Those gray eyes were still the same. Piercing. Curious. Hesitant. Any thoughts he had were slipping away under her gray eyes. He hated those eyes. No matter who wore the mask, who donned the goal, the eyes changed to reflect the host. But those he had hated the most.

They suited his mentor too much. The color of storm clouds, the waves after rain, a blurry whirl of sea mist and silver linings. When she first took those eyes, he hated them because they reminded him of the nurse who used to have them. He wasn't sure why, but he felt guilty about putting the mask on her. The way she had looked at him so frightfully, struggling until even the last second as he put the mask on, sobbing and begging. Perhaps it was also because they didn't seem to be very different. That's why he chose her in the first place. They were both doctors, so eager to learn, to find a cure. So why did she suddenly become so afraid? His methods were unorthodox, but she had no need to fear him. But she had. She had screamed and fled from him, though she didn't make it far. How could those eyes, who once looked at him with such hope and admiration, turn to disgust and horror so quickly?

And as time went on, these were the eyes of his mentor that he remembered in his dreams, mocking him, laughing at his attempts to research, to try to find a cure, who scoffed at him when he made claims of being even just a _good_ doctor, not the best like he knew he really was. He hated those eyes, but now, here, they weren't angry, they were just...hurt. Was this Clara? Was she the one who was hurt by him? This tiny researcher whom he barely knew, who he had met so many years ago, just a doctor trying to do her job. Or was it his mentor? Was it the woman who had traveled countless words with, more than he could count now, since the beginning of time, longer than he could remember. So many lifetimes, never being enough for her, never amounting to anything in her eyes. So many years, he'd traveled at her side, longing to be equals, not just mentor and pupil, but it was never good enough. _He_ was never good enough.

He tried to decipher who was looking at him. Whose eyes were meeting his, but he couldn't. It was everything old and something new all at once, leaving him clammy and unable to form concrete thoughts before her.

Clara blinked at him, weakly trying to rise from the ground, but not making it very far before she sank back to the earth. He looked like she should be rising out of a comfy bed, not a concrete cot, with not a blanket or pillow to be seen.

"You shouldn't try to move yet," he said calmly.

She opened her mouth to speak, managing to produce a weak squeak, before breaking into another fit of coughs. She reached out, trying again to find something to grip onto.

"What do you want?" he asked her. "I told you to lie still."

"...as..." she rasped, and he leaned closer. She reached out, grabbing onto his cloak and pulling him down to her. His eyes widened, but hers had cleared their fog and were alive and stormy. "I need my mask."

He hesitated. Did he really want to give it back to her?

"Perhaps you're not quite well yet," he insisted, gently pushing her back to the ground. "You need your rest. Perhaps wait a bit before putting it on."

"Not...not put on..." she said weakly. "No..."

"Tell me, Clara, what do you remember?" He swallowed, and hoped she didn't notice.

Brushing his hands away, Clara finally managed to rise to a sitting position. She hung her head, taking slow, careful breaths, hoping to stop the room from spinning. If it didn't, she was afraid she might pass out again, and that was the last thing she wanted. She was tired of drifting in and out, so she gave herself a moment before looking over at SCP-049. "I remember enough."

"Yes but," he sighed irritably and crossed his arms. "...well, I suppose that's fine then."

She ran a hand through her hair, wincing when she realized how much she'd pay for a shower right about now. She was filthy. Covered in dirt and dust from the basement, covered in blood that wasn't quite hers, a bit of that odd green liquid too, sweat...she'd had a day, that was for sure. She blinked. SCP-049 was still watching her. What exactly was he expecting her to say? His eyes scanned her up and down, waiting for a response, waiting for something, some sort of indication, but whatever he was looking for, he probably didn't find it.

"What did you inject me with?" she muttered.

"A few things. I always carry contained samples of the Great Pestilence for research purposes, gathered from the blood of the infected. I combined that with your hair and my own blood, along with other chemical compounds to create a rudimentary "cure" that would normally be used among the infected. Since you are not infected, you are immune, the affects would vary. I was intrigued as to what the results would be," he said, lifting his head slightly.

"Gross," she said lowly.

He raised an eyebrow. She was not frightened, as he thought she might be. She was always so scared of him before. Why had that changed? Was it because of her memories? Or was there something else?

"You said there were parts you remembered. What all did you-"

"Don't," she whispered, raising a hand to cut him off. He growled, opening his mouth to continue, but her small frame and sagging shoulders gave him pause. Her down-turned lips and baggy eyes gave the look that she had been crying, though as far as he was aware, she hadn't shed a tear since waking up. So his let his mouth close, and just nodded. She stood, wobbling a bit, and he outstretched his hand to steady her. Again, she pushed it away, wrapping her arms around herself instead.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Clara," he said.

"You already did," she whispered. She made her way over to the mask, tracing the scar and crack with her fingertips. He winced. "I just...I just want to know why," she said. "Just tell me why you did it."

He was going to. Really, he was, but a hissing sound cut him off. They both looked up, trying to find the source of the noise as a cool mist settled over them. Clara covered her nose, coughing. He stumbled as well, cursing under his breath.

L. Multifida.

"No," Clara whimpered. "Who...who is..." she stumbled, falling back against the wall, her eyelids fluttering. "Not again..."

He covered his nose, trying to make his way to the door, to air out the room. He held his breath, tried to fight the fog pulling at his mind, draping over his muscles and bones. The scent of lavender was potent, way stronger than a normal dose just to calm them or make them docile. This thick a cloud was halting his thoughts entirely, but he still managed to force himself to the door before falling to his knees, legs unable to support him any longer. He reached up, stretching for the door handle, just out of reach. He grabbed its cold steel in his hands, tried to pry it open.

Locked. They'd been locked in. He forced his gaze upward to the small, observation window in the door, and his eyes narrowed at a face he barely recognized. But then he was falling, falling backwards, drifting away, and even when his body hit the ground, his mind was still falling down.

Dr. Ivar waited a moment longer before stepping into the room. He took a deep breath, rather liking the smell of lavender himself, though even he could admit the thick cloud of it was a bit too strong for his liking. He couldn't take any risks though, so going a bit overboard was necessary. He looked down at SCP-049 on the ground, so close to escape, yet so far. He stepped over him, taking care not to touch his skin. No, he couldn't risk that just yet. Too many risks, but Ivar was always careful to avoid them. He crossed the room to Clara, still slumped against the wall. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, off in some other place. A bit of lavender made them docile and decreased aggression. A good amount of lavender could make them compliant enough to move, sedate, or get braces of iron shackles onto. Put a lot of lavender into the room, and, well, they practically became putty. Their limbs refused to move, or rather, their brains couldn't send the signals to do so. Refused to send any thoughts at all, actually.

He knelt down in front of Clara with a chuckle. If she recognized him, she made no indication of it. Her eyes wouldn't even lock onto him, still blissfully elsewhere. Was she dreaming, he wondered, of memories he hadn't tapped into?

He took her chin in his hands, raising it up. "Hello Clara," he said with a giggle. "Do you remember me?"

No response. Disappointing. He nodded her head in his hands, giving her his own response. Much better.

"Oh good, you _do_ remember me!" he said happily. "Yes, sorry that I had to convince you that I had died. It just made things a bit easier to operate behind the scenes. You're very easy to manipulate Clara, do you know that?"

He shook her head.

"Well it's true! But you've been able to give me so many answers. There are just a few more questions I need to know. A few more...hypotheses I need to test out. I want to know what happens when we put that pretty mask back on your face. Under controlled conditions, of course. It's broken, isn't it? And we forcefully removed it. Something really bad might happen if we put it back on. Buuuut, I don't think so! See, I have this theory, that if I put that mask on you now, while it's damaged and while there's so much lavender in the room..well, I think I might be able to make my own memories for you! We've already done that before. Let me guess, memories of Florida beaches? Old records? Drawing? A few other random bits and pieces? All memories that I've gathered from other researchers who work here. None of that was ever real. I planted those memories inside of you, just to see if it would work. Just to see if I could make you forget what you were. And it worked! Isn't that wonderful?"

He dropped her chin, tired of playing with her like a doll, and moved over to the table.

"But after SCP-049 experimented on you a bit, I have a feeling you remembered quite a bit. And you see, I can't have you going back to a murderous little doctor on some righteous journey. We already have one of those," he said, gesturing to SCP-049, still on the ground. "So I'm going to try to rewrite your memories again. Only this time, we're going to do it with the mask on." He grinned. "Just imagine Clara. Having someone as powerful as you, working for the Foundation. Imagine the testing we could both do together. I think that with your mask broken as it is, that might just be possible. And as for him, down there," he said. "Well...having a shared consciousness and such limitless abilities? I think once I figure out a bit more how you work, Clara, I might just remove his mask too. Figure out how to use it for myself." His eyes gleamed, and he broke out into laughter. "Can you imagine, me, as a Doctor myself!? Oh, but I'd want to make sure _I'm_ in full control, that's why I'll test everything on you first. I would just use your pretty little mask right here, but since it's broken, I don't want second-hand goods. You understand," he said. He turned back to Clara, spreading his arms out. "What do you say, Clara?! You let me change your memories, and we work together to find a cure to not some imaginary Great Pestilence, but to mortality itself!"

Clara, of course, didn't answer. She just continued staring blankly ahead. Whether or not she had even heard what Ivar had said was unknown. He let his arms fall back to his sides with a happy sigh. "Ahh, and I have the breech to thank for all of this. I knew one was bound to happen eventually, but one of this size and scale? I'll have to thank that little sentient computer later." Ivar walked over to the mask, holding it in his hands, practically giddy, and stepped back over to Clara. He took her chin in his hands again, brushing her hair out of her face. "Let's cover up that face of yours with this pretty mask, and see what happens, shall we?"

If he would have looked close enough, he may have seen Clara's tears, dripping out of her eyes. But he, of course, didn't care. He moved to place the mask on her face, when the muzzle of a gun pressed firmly into the back of his head. Ivar froze.

"Don't you fucking dare," Jack growled. "Stand up. Right now. And get the hell away from her or I'll blast your head open."

Ivar scowled. "How dare you-"

Jack unlocked the safety on his gun, and Ivar winced.

"Alright, alright!" Ivar slowly stood up, inch by inch, his back to him. Jack narrowed his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to blast this guy's head in right here and there for everything he'd done, but it wouldn't be worth the blood that might splatter on Clara. Besides, the Foundation would likely want to know everything that this psychopath had been doing, and Jack had been smart enough to record his monologue from the observation room before coming in.

"Raise your hands above your head. Keep that mask where I can see it."

Ivar did as he was told, rising the owl mask above his head. While keeping the gun pointed at him, Jack snatched it away and set it back down on the table. Once the mask was out of reach, Jack slammed his gun into Ivar's back, sending the man to the ground. Jack stepped on him, pushing him down and pointing the gun at his head. "I should just kill you right now. And I really want to. But you also know more about Clara's mask and the experiments than anyone else. So for now, you're going to do what I saw, or I'll take the risk of figuring everything out on my own." Jack leaned down, ziptieing Ivar's hands and feet together before finally stepping back and hoisting Ivar back onto his feet. He pushed him back into the observation room. Ivar, for his part, offered no words of resistance, and barely spared Jack a glance.

That was fine by Jack. He immediately headed back into the room once Ivar was restrained, and ran over to Clara. "Clara! Clara, wake up," he said, gently shaking her shoulders. There was barely a response, but Jack knew that was probably because of the lavender still in the room. He sighed and wiped away her wet cheeks with a smile. "It's alright, Clara. I've got you." He gently picked her up off the ground, carrying her out to the observation room. He set her down on the opposite side of Ivar, and sealed the room back up with SCP-049 still in it. Solved one of his problems at the very least, finally getting that monster contained and away from Clara. He didn't like the idea of keeping SCP-049 in the same room as the mask, but it was going to have to do. He wasn't going to risk SCP-049 getting out and about again. Content that Clara was safe, at least for now, Jack turned to Ivar, who had finally decided to look up at him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Jack growled.

"You can't just pretend she's a normal girl," Ivar said plainly, ignoring him. "I was merely attempting to return her to her original state. Returning the mask to her would-"

Jack punched Ivar, sending him sprawling out of the chair and to the ground. Ivar coughed, looking up at Jack with rage, but before he could even open his mouth, Jack kicked him in the gut. Ivar hacked and heaved, struggling to catch his breath after the assault. Jack shook his hand. He'd cracked the skin around his knuckle a bit, but it was worth it after seeing the already forming bruise on Ivar's jaw.

"Let's pretend for just a second that I give a damn about what you think about Clara. Let's look at this from a 'foundation' perspective," Jack said, crossing his arms, watching Ivar writhe on the ground. "If what you said before is true, then putting the mask on Clara in a damaged state could result in unforeseen events, possible negative events, yet you just attempted to conduct a potentially dangerous experiment without proper authorization on a neutralized SCP that could reactivate it to Euclid or Keter class. All without permission or any armed personnel. You assumed the outcome would be positive, but had no real grounds to base that on. For all you knew, she could have gone on a rampage and destroyed this whole facility, all because you wanted to know what would happen. Did I miss anything there?"

"I-" Ivar started to speak, but Jack kicked his jaw, shutting him up with a cry.

"Shut. Up," Jack said. "I don't care what excuses you have. You can't talk your way out of this. Where did you even get these crazy ideas?!"

"The...the mask...SCP-035..." Ivar coughed. "He knows...the truth..."

Jack scowled. "You've absolutely lost your mind, and if you've been talking to that cursed mask, then you're really delusional."

"Jack..." Clara murmured, and Jack turned around to see her shakily try to rise to her feet. He rushed over, catching her arm as she stumbled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "What...what happened? Where am I, where-" she said, but Jack cut her off by pulling her into a tight hug. Clara's eyes widened, and for a moment, she was frozen. "Um...J-Jack?"

"You're okay," he whispered. He shook for a moment, holding her in his arms, tighter than he ever had before. Of course, they hadn't really hugged many times. Only once, really, and it was under the excuse of warming each other up. This was different, Clara thought. This was desperation and relief, the need to feel a weight against your own, to swallow someone up in your arms just to make sure they were there, they were real. "You're finally okay. You...you are okay, right?" He pulled back, looking her over. She looked tired. Exhausted. But not hurt.

She smiled at him. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Clara looked over his shoulder at Ivar, her face a thousand questions, but she left them to herself and turned back to Jack. It was her turn to look him over, look at the dried blood around his shoulder, the bandages, his tired, red eyes. He looked like he'd been through hell. Maybe he had. "You really came all this way for me?"

"Well, I am your guard," Jack said. "It's kinda my job."

Clara puffed out her cheeks for a moment, and looked away. "S-So it was all for a job?"

"N-No, that's not what I meant!" Jack said, raising his hands in a panic, but a giggle from Clara let him breath a sigh of relief. She was only teasing. So, she liked to tease people? Was that her? Was that a false memory, or the real her? There were so many things he wanted to know about her, so many things he wanted to decipher if they were real, figure out who she really was, who-

"Where's the Doctor?" she asked.

Jack paused. "Inside, probably still unconscious," Jack said. "Don't worry, he can't hurt you anymore."

Clara rubbed her arms and nodded, looking toward the door. "And, and the mask?"

"It's contained in that room too," Jack said, and Clara walked over to the observation table to see it for herself. "Um...Clara? What's wrong?"

"You need to let me back into the room for a moment," she said. "I need to get the mask."

Jack's brow furrowed, and then straightened in determination. He gently gripped Clara's arm. "Clara, I don't know what all happened in there, but you can't put on that mask. Did SCP-049 tell you something? Did you...did you remember something?"

She looked up at him, and was quiet. She gave the smallest of nods before turning back to the window.

"So. You...you remembered."

"And you knew? The whole time?" she asked back.

Now it was Jack's turn to give a silent answer. He braced himself for anger. For tears and accusations and curses. But they never came. Clara just smiled up at him. "I had a feeling."

"You're not mad?" he asked.

She shook her head. "You were just following orders. And besides, it helped me get the illusion that I was one of you. At least for a little while. That was...nice. To be able to pretend."

So many things he'd wanted to say to her, so many words and thoughts that had been weighing in his mind, dragging him down while keeping him going, and they all flew away at her simple smile. Nothing more needed to be said, because she already knew everything, knew more than maybe he did, and his dreams of telling her the truth about herself drifted up into smoke around him.

He'd wanted it to be in a bit of a better situation than this. He'd pictured them together somewhere, away from the Foundation with any luck. Maybe on the beach, and he'd tell her the truth about herself, answer all the questions she'd asked, or at least the ones that he knew the answers to. And he'd end it all by telling her that none of her past mattered, that she could start over, they both could, and begin something new. That was all stripped away, and Jack couldn't tell if he was disappointed or relieved that she'd already achieved his goals for him. He felt his burden lifted, but it felt a bit like it was stolen away from him.

Clara tried to move toward the door to the cell, but Jack's grip tightened. "Clara, if you remember, then why go toward the mask? You don't need it, let's just leave it behind and get out of here," he said tentatively. "Or...or did remembering something make you want to put it back on?"

God, he hoped that wasn't the case. If she wanted to put that mask on, then he was too late. And she was gone.

Clara shook her head. "No. It's not like that." She looked up to Jack fiercely, and he dropped her arm in surprise. Ferocity was new for her. "I need my mask so I can destroy it."

* * *

 **Apologizes for the wait, but I really wanted to make sure that this chapter was up to my standards. I'm always worried I move too fast with my pacing, so any thoughts on areas that felt rushed or slow are really appreciated.**

 **But also, yaaaay Jack and Clara are finally reunited! :D But our heroes aren't out of the clear just yet.**

 **Will Ivar sit idly by and let his goals fail?**

 **What will happen when SCP-049 wakes up?**

 **Why does Clara want to destroy her mask, and what will happen if she does?**

 **Find out next time in The Color of the Cure, Chapter 14!**


	14. Chapter 14: Jack

Hollaway looked out over the cameras and surveillance footage they'd managed to regain control of in his operations room. It hadn't been easy, and they'd lost a lot of men, but they were starting to make really good progress on securing the facility again, something he thought might be impossible. Most of the SCPs, at least the highly dangerous ones, had been contained, save a few. D-Class were still running amok, but he wasn't too worried about a few wandering degenerates. A few bullets would clean them up, and there was nowhere for them to go. Even if they managed to get out of the facility, the freezing cold would kill them off. That wasn't a risk he particularly wanted to take, but they were the least of his concern right now. He was more concerned with getting a certain indestructible and homicidal lizard under control.

There were just a few big ones left. A few he still needed to contain. Once they were taken care of, he could call this a success. Otherwise, he still might have to resort to the nuke.

He hoped it didn't come to that. But with that giant lizard still terrorizing the facility, he didn't know what other options he had. He still had a few tricks he was willing to try first, though. Hollaway wasn't one to abandon his ship, and even if he sailed into an iceberg, he wasn't going to let it sink. He'd patch the holes himself if he had to, and this was no different. He'd contain them all, and put this whole thing behind him. Setting off the nuke meant giving up. Admitting defeat. And he wasn't going to be defeated so easily. He still wasn't sure how this whole breach had started, but he'd get to the bottom of it. He wasn't just a military man. He was a doctor first and foremost, and was more intelligent than a lot of people gave him credit for.

Looking over the cameras was helping, but it was impossible to catch everything at once, too much was happening. The cameras flicked from one channel to the next, scanning from room to room. Once this was over, he'd be sure to review them all carefully, make sure there wasn't anything important that he had missed, but right now, it was easy for a few things to slip passed him.

The door behind him opened, and a few familiar faces appear at his side.

"How's it looking boss?" Bear asked, setting his goggles on the table.

Hollaway grunted in response, switching between the screens. "Not as well as I'd hoped, but not as bad as it could be. You two did good securing SCP-106 and SCP-173. Your actions will certainly be rewarded when all of this is finally behind us."

"Rewards aren't really what I care about right now," Blue said, putting a hand on her hip. "Just give us our next target so we can keep putting these things away."

Hollaway grunted. "Easy, Blue. It's not that simple anymore."

Bear leaned forward to get a better look at the monitors, pointing to one flickering in the corner. "Hey. Isn't that Jack?"

Blue perked up, moving over and standing on her tip-toes to try to look over Bear's shoulder.

Sure enough, there he was, sitting in an observation room with that girl.

Blue couldn't help but smile, but Hollaway merely scowled. "He's got SCP-049-2 in tow."

Bear and Blue exchanged a glance. "Well, sir, it is his job to secure her," Bear said, trying to give Jack at least a little leeway. He wasn't exactly happen with the situation either, of course not, Jack was his friend, but he didn't want to see his friend be branded a traitor. Bad things happened to traitors in the Foundation.

Hollaway glared at the monitors. "Secure. Right. And that's why he's hugging her, without any protective gloves or gear on?"

"Sir, I don't think they're our concern right now," Blue said. "Besides, look, they've contained SCP-049! He's in that room, unconscious."

"Look. There's a researcher there," Bear added, pointing to the other corner of the observation room, where a figure in a white lab coat was struggling to get out of his bonds. "Can't get a good look at their face from this angle."

"Well then. Looks like there's only a few SCP's left to contain then. SCP-682, SCP-035, and the SCP known as Clara." Hollaway looked down at Blue. She straightened under his gaze, coming to attention. Bear did the same. "I trust you both to take care of SCP-035 and Clara. I'll deal with SCP-682. Understood?"

If there was anything Blue would have said in protest, it was mute now. Hollaway crossed his arms in front of his chest, staring down at her, unflinching.

"Is that understood, Agent Blue?"

"Yes sir!" Blue said, saluting. Bear did the same.

"Good. Dismissed."

Blue headed to the door, chewing on her bottom lip as she tried to calm her thoughts, racing in a thousand directions.

"And Blue?"

She paused, looking over her shoulder at the captain. Framed by the glow of computer monitors and a dozen other soldiers, he was a modern day king choosing the executioners. His word was law. Unchallenged. Anything less meant being demoted under normal circumstances, but here, in this place, it meant death. One utterance of uncertainty or resistance would earn you a bullet in your back quicker than you could apologize. This wasn't a game. This was war. This was life or death, and she'd always choose her own survival. It was all she had.

She didn't have Tetris. She didn't have Jack anymore either. She had Bear, but she couldn't depend on that. Losing Bear made her tremble, he was the last thing she had, but forcing him to be her lifeline in this place was too cruel for either of them. This world had proven to be too uncertain, too fragile. What was the point of grabbing onto something that could so quickly disappear, that could die without a thought?

No. Blue no longer had the willpower to care about anyone other than herself. Staying alive was all she needed to focus. Everything else was secondary.

"If Jack resists, you have my orders to terminate him."

Blue swallowed, her hand lingering on the door. She steeled her gaze, took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Yes sir."

* * *

"Clara, how do you know what will happen if you destroy the mask?!" Jack shouted back at her.

"I-I don't," Clara admitted as they ran. At first, Jack was practically dragging her along, leading her through the halls and farther away from the old cells. They still weren't safe, nowhere was really safe, but he hadn't wanted to linger in that room where two mad doctors now resided. Now, Clara ran alongside him. Her body still felt weak, her lungs still burned, but her day of danger had built up an immunity to the pain and she kept pace with him pretty easily.

Finally, Jack paused, allowing each of them to catch their breath. "So then why do you want to destroy it? What good will that do?"

Clara looked around the cement halls, very few monsters roamed them now. She wasn't sure where exactly Jack thought he was taking her, but she trusted him enough to know that he at least had faith in where he was going. "This mask is the monster, Jack. I have to destroy it. It's the only way I can be free of her, it's the only way to end what started."

"Clara, slow down," Jack said, as Clara started to walk again. He ran in front of her and put his hands on his shoulders. "Clara, _stop._ Help me understand. I need to understand."

She stopped. He was right. She shouldn't just run blindly ahead without telling him everything. The problem was is that if she thought about things too much, if she thought back on the place that she was in, everything that had happened, she was worried she might lose her nerve. That she might collapse into a fit of sobs again. She couldn't afford to do that anymore. She'd come too far to go back to being a scared little girl now.

Sighing, Clara turned to Jack. "Alright. But...but not here. I don't feel safe out in the open."

Jack nodded, and the two headed to a storage room for cleaning supplies close by. Mops and brooms were lined on the inside, with all manner of cleaning supplies and bleaches stacked on the shelves. It smelled strongly of formaldehyde, but the cramped room did feel a bit more safe. Content, Jack crossed his arms and waited.

So Clara told him. She told him everything that she had remembered. Of her life before now. Of how willing she was to trust the doctor, despite the warning signs, and how that trust had been broken so easily. She told him what it was like to be wearing the mask, to not just have someone else in control, but to be _merged_ with other voices, other entities. It wasn't like someone was just controlling her body, it was like she had become a part of something much greater. There was only one goal, and with the mask, that just became clear. How she acted toward that goal was just how she felt she needed to act. There were no thoughts of resisting or trying to gain back control; those thoughts just simply didn't exist when she was wearing the mask. There was their purpose, and that was it. There was no sense of self or no mourning of what was lost.

Then she told him of when they ripped it off of her. How it felt. How agonizing it was, how even thinking back on the pain made her palms sweaty and knees shake, and she thought she might need Jack's help to stand more than a few times, but she refused to faint in front of mops and dusting pans.

"Not having the mask, but remembering what it was like to wear it, it feels wrong. Like a piece of me is missing, like...like I'm missing an organ or something. I guess it sort of feels like I"m walking around naked. Obviously I can survive, but it feels wrong. All of my thoughts are of covering myself up, trying to hide. It's like that, but the only thing I need is this mask," she said, holding it up.

"So...you want to put it on?" Jack asked tightly. Clara wasn't blind. She saw the way he tensed. The way his hand twitched for a moment toward his gun.

"More than anything," Clara said through clenched teeth. "If...if it wasn't broken, I might not have the willpower to resist. But it's exactly because it's broken that I have to make sure I never put it on, no matter what."

"Why?" Jack asked. "I mean, obviously I don't want you to put on the mask, I don't want to lose you again. But why because it's broken?"

"Imagine a thousand, no, a million voices, all singing the same song for millennia, year after year," Clara said, tracing the outline of the mask, a perfect fit for her face, tracing the grooves and crevices, so familiar. "When the mask is healed, when it's complete, those voices all sing the same song, in a sort of harmony. There's not a note off-key, it's just one big choir all joining together. But with the crack, the key is broken." She looked up at him again. "If I put this mask on, a million voices will all be screaming their own songs. So many lives will all be trying to get out, trying to get back, their own goals, their own identities, all crawling and struggling to break free. I'll be lost in the voices. If I put this mask back on, there's no telling what will happen with so many people struggling for control without one unified goal. It would be chaos."

Jack was quiet for a while, mulling over everything that she had said. It seemed like such a plain looking mask, he couldn't imagine that it held as much danger as Clara was making it out to be from first glance. But he didn't doubt it for a second. He'd seen more innocent looking objects drive men mad in this place, and he'd seen what both SCP-049 and Clara could do. He'd be a fool to doubt her. "But...cracking it the first time hurt you. Even when it was separated from you, you were in pain," Jack said. "How do you know that destroying it won't just destroy you too, Clara?"

"It might," she said softly. "There's a definite mimetic affect to altering the masks. SCP-049 had forgotten all about me and the mask when it was damaged. Granted, he still felt a sense of familiarity, and he was able to gain those memories back eventually, as was I. If this mask is destroyed, there's no telling what would happen. I might not just die, I might just fade out of existence all together."

"How can you say that so calmly?!" Jack shouted, grabbing onto her again. "You're just going to accept that you might die, after coming this far?!"

"What other choice do I have?" Clara said back to him. "Live my entire life craving to put the mask on, knowing that if for even one second I'm weak enough to give in, I go back to being a monster?! I risk walking around in a living hell for eternity? I'd _rather_ die," she said.

"No," he said stubbornly. "I won't let that happen."

"But, Jack-"

"NO," he said firmly, and for a moment, his grip was too tight. His hands shook on her shoulders, and he pulled her close to him. "You're...you're all I've got, Clara. This is it. I gave up everything for this. If I lose you, what do I have left?! The Foundation? Fuck the Foundation. I want you."

"J-Jack," Clara said. "You can't just...I mean, we barely know each other."

"That's fine," he said softly. "I don't care. I want the time to get to know each other. You can't cut that short. I want to know you, Clara. I want to know everything about you. You can't rip that away from me. You don't have to be strong all the time. If you want to be weak, if you think you might put on the mask, then I'll take it from you. You don't have to be strong all on your own."

"You'd...you'd have to give up everything though," Clara whispered. "There's no telling what may happen."

"You're right," he admitted. "But I've already given everything up. That's why I need this, Clara. Please. Please just...please."

Clara looked up at him. She'd never seen him like this before. She'd never seen him look so weak. So scared. He was a man with nothing but a chance, a single hope, and it was her. The pressure of that almost made her shake, the feeling of being someone's everything. Could she handle that? Could she bring herself to understand that her life was no longer her own? Could she give her life to someone else too, knowing that whatever happened to her would affect him as well?

"Okay," Clara said softly. Jack's eyes widened, and she smiled at him, tilting her head. "Well then...I guess we better get out of here then, huh?"

Jack cleared his throat and shook his head. Gave himself a moment to not feel like he was bearing himself open for her. His life was in her hands now, and whether or not he fully trusted her with it was irrelevant. It was just a fact. Throwing himself head-first into a person, into another human being, was terrifying. There were so many unknowns, so many uncertainties, but he wanted her to be his constant. He wanted her to the one, unchanging thing. No matter what happened to the two of them, as long as it kept being the two of them, he could handle it.

He nodded. "Right. Let's get out of here then."

Clara opened the door, and exited out into the hallway. Immediately, noise drew both of their attention to the right, where three new instances of SCP-049-1 stood, turning toward them immediately. Clara wasn't sure when SCP-049 had had the time to make them, but she didn't have time to ponder that thought for long. One shrieked, and the other two answered the call, knowing already that food had been found.

Jack cursed and pulled out his gun as the three figures barreled toward them, one leaping onto the wall and sinking into the cement with claw-like fingers.

"Clara, run!" Jack shouted, and after firing at the one on the wall, the two of them turned and sprinted in the other direction. Jack grabbed Clara's hand and pulled her along, the two of them whipping around hallway corners and corridors. Eventually, they got to an electrified gate, and Jack froze. "Don't run until I say so, then run as fast as you can," he instructed.

"O-Okay," Clara said nervously, her grip on his hand tightening for a moment. In the near distance, the creatures let out pained screams, once human voices mixing with guttural, animistic cries. The gate's electrified current buzzed, illuminating the dark room with white light that made the hair on the back of Clara's neck stand up. Behind them, the three monsters were gaining speed and closing the distance.

The gate hummed for a second, and then turned off. "Go!" Jack shouted, and the two of them dove through. Clara felt the air around them tingle, it made her jaw hurt and her muscles feel numb for a moment, and the second they passed through the other side, the gate lit up again, lightning darting between the two metal poles. One of the instances dove through the gate too late, howling as electricity pumped into it. The smell of burnt meat filled the room as the body twitched, limbs convulsing as the energy electrocuted it. A second later, the beast fell to the floor, tongue lolling out of it, dead. The other two managed to leap through the gate, and Jack and Clara kept running. They made it to the end of the hall, where a large elevator, much bigger than the one Clara had taken to the basement, stood.

"That won't take us to the basement, will it?" Clara asked between breaths.

"No, this is a main elevator! It should be able to take us to the ground floor!" Jack shouted back. They arrived a second later, and Jack swiped his key, pushing the button quickly. "Come on, come on you stupid thing," he muttered under his breath. "Hurry up..."

The two beasts shrieked, and Jack turned around, pushing Clara behind him as he fired his gun. One of the monsters went sailing back, screaming as the bullets tore through it, but then Jack's gun clicked, empty. Jack cursed, fumbling through his bag to get more ammunition as the last of the instances came closer.

"Shit...shit!" Jack turned, moving to wrap his arms around Clara and shield her, but Clara moved out from underneath him.

She raised her arm up to the creature, squeezing her eyes shut as it was inches from her.

 _"STOP!"_

The creature froze, mid-stride. It was so close, Jack could feel the heat of its breath, smell something close to rotting flesh or meat left out in the sun.

Clara remained still, her hand inches from the beast's face. It was drooling, staring at her blankly in confusion, not sure who she was or how this was happening. She wasn't quite sure either. She was trembling and shaking, but her gaze was firm. Her eyes narrowed, and she kept her hand straight.

 _You will not attack us. We are both immune. You will **not** attack us._

The creature shuddered for a moment, clacking its jaw up and down as if chattering, or speaking in some way. And then, it lowered its arms, outstretched to rip their skin from their bones, and lowered them to its side. It stood, motionless, staring at Clara with whatever weird eyes it had left.

Clara lowered her arm, stumbling a bit, but then turned to Jack with a weak smile. She gave him a thumbs up. "It's...it's okay. It won't hurt us."

Jack paused. Blinked at her. Looked from the creature, to her, then back to the creature, before giving a nervous chuckle. He rubbed the back of his neck. "G-Geez Clara, when'd you become such a badass?"

Clara squeaked, and covered her mouth with her hand, looking away as her face turned red. The elevator gave a happy "ping!" letting them both know that it had arrived, better late than never. She cleared her throat and turned back around. "W-well, um...we s-should be going then!"

Jack laughed, giving another wary glance at the instance of SCP-049-1 as they stepped into the elevator. "It's, uh...it's not coming with us, right?"

Clara giggled as the doors closed, leaving the instance of SCP-049-1 behind, still dutifully waiting for another command. Meanwhile, Jack and Clara headed down to ground floor, away from the beast and the remains of the two others.

* * *

Blue and Bear made quick work running to the room where SCP-049 and the researcher were being held. It didn't take long. They knew this facility like the back of their hand by now. They knew they wouldn't be able to cut off Jack and Clara yet if they'd left the room, but making it to the researcher and seeing if Jack and Clara left any clues behind was the first step. Hollaway was right, most of the SCPs had been contained by now, and the very few D-Class they came across were dealt with quickly. Bear said he thought he had seen an instance or two of SCP-049-1, but if there were such creatures still roaming the halls, they disappeared before Blue and Bear could get a good look. For now, that was fine by them.

They headed into the room, guns at the ready just in case.

Dr. Ivar immediately breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh thank goodness, I was worried no one would ever come!"

"Dr. Ivar?" Blue said, her brow furrowing in confusion. She rushed over, working quickly to untie his bonds and zipties. "What are you doing here? Weren't Clara and Jack just here?"

"Yes!" Ivar said quickly. "But I think they may have gone rogue. That girl, Clara, I think she may have some sort of control over Jack, he wasn't acting like himself at all! He attacked me, and tied me up over here after I managed to contain both Clara and SCP-049 in the cell," he said, rubbing his wrists once they were free.

Blue hesitated. "He's the one who tied you up?"

"And beat me black and blue, as you can see," Ivar said, chuckling weakly. It was true, there were bruises covering his face. This wasn't done just because someone thought he needed to be restrained, there was malice behind this.

"Doesn't sound like Jack," Bear grumbled, glancing through the observation window. "But he's been through a lot I suppose." Bear raised an eyebrow at Ivar. "He got locked in a room with SCP-173. You know anything about that?"

Ivar's brows furrowed in confusion. "With SCP-173? And he survived? That's quite a miracle, but no, I don't know anything about that. I've been laying low once the breach started. I didn't have any other guards with me at the time, so I've been fending for myself mostly. When I came across Clara and the Doctor in the cell, I locked them in and released L. Multifida to incapacitate them. It was going well, but then Jack attacked me." Ivar stood up from the ground. "Thank you both so much for your help."

Bear nodded. "Of course, Doctor, it's the least we can do."

Ivar looked down. "I just...hope there's a way to bring Jack back to his senses. He's both of your friend, isn't he?"

Blue nodded to him, walking over to the computer monitors. Maybe some of the surveillance footage could give them a good idea of where Clara and Jack had gone.

Could it really be that Clara was controlling Jack? That she was manipulating him in some way to care about her? Blue hadn't thought of that. Well, maybe she had for a moment, but Jack had seemed to passionate about protecting her. She assumed that it was just his heroic tendencies getting in the way again, here comes G. I. Jack to the rescue. But was there something more? When she let Jack go after Clara, had she sealed him to some horrible fate? Would she stumble upon him later, as an instance of SCP-049-1? She shuddered at the thought. She already told him she'd put a bullet through him if that happened, but could she fight him if he didn't look like a monster?

"You should come with us, Dr. Ivar, we can take you to Hollaway and get you someplace safe," Bear said firmly. "He might still drop the nuke if worse comes to worse, and you should be in a safe bunker if it comes to that."

"What?! No no no, he can't do that!"

Blue's eyes scanned over the tapes, almost ready to give up. She rewinded a bit further, maybe something inside the room would give her a better idea...

She stopped. Her eyes widened at the monitors. At the scenes playing back to her, plain as day, the audio recording playing faintly through the speakers. It couldn't be...that Dr. Ivar was...

"D-Dr. Ivar, what are you doing-"

A shot rang out. Bear stumbled back, clutching at his chest. He pulled his hand away, bright red blood staining it. He made a choked noise, stumbled for a moment, but another shot sent him to the floor, this time through his head. He hit the ground, and didn't move, blood already beginning to pool around him.

Blue grabbed the desk chair behind her and lifted it up to hurl it at Ivar, but another shot rang out, and Blue, too, went to the floor. She clutched at her stomach, struggling to breathe. Every breath felt like fire, like liquid was filling her lungs, and it was, her own blood, and when she coughed, she could taste the iron, like a penny, in her mouth.

Ivar walked over with the gun he had taken from Bear's belt, slipping into behind his lab coat. He looked down at Blue with a bright smile. "Thank you for untying me!"

And without another word, he left.

* * *

 _ **We're almost to the end now, just a bit longer, just a bit more until the sun rises.**_

 _ **Will we make it, the two of us? Or will our story fall short before it's rightful time?**_

 _ **Just you and me. Can we make it?**_

 _ **We have to.**_

 **The Color of the Cure will end in three chapters.**


	15. Chapter 15: The Cure

As the elevator slowly climbed down, Jack reached out and took Clara's hand in his own. He squeezed it for a moment, and Clara returned the motion. It was warm. Soothing. A solid presence as they were lowered toward their freedom. Where would they go? What would they do? So many thoughts swirling in her mind, all possible with him by her side. Would they get a house by a lake? Would they rise early in the morning, sit out on a dock and watch the morning mist roll off the water in waves, a cup of tea in hand? Would they take to the sea, buy a sailboat, and find some island away from everything? Or maybe they'd hide in plain sight, find a small apartment in the city, change their names, find new lives. Jack's thumb traced her palm, small reassurances that everything would be alright. And she believed him, because it was so easy to trust him, trust that everything would be alright.

He didn't know what they would do either, or how exactly they could escape the Foundation. They didn't take well to deserters. Sure, he could try to reason with them after all of this was over. Try to convince them that Clara was innocent. But they'd seen what she was capable of. Even if they let her live, even if they kept her as a researcher and not a prisoner here, treated her as a person and not an SCP, they'd never let her leave. And he couldn't bear to see her trapped here, in these walls. She deserved to feel the sun on her skin, enjoy stupid little things like eating ice cream or having a snowball fight or going to see a movie. He wanted to take her to a place where neither of them recognized the stars, and make up constellations all their own.

Maybe there'd never be anything romantic between them. Maybe they'd come to learn so much about each other that they'd find they were too different for each other. Maybe. Jack doubted it, but he supposed it was possible. But still, even with that possibility, he wanted to learn enough about her to make that choice.

Finally, the elevator reached ground floor. Jack had finished reloading his gun, but hoped he wouldn't need it anymore. He'd also taught Clara how to reload her own handgun, just in case.

The doors opened, revealing a large, spacious room that stretched a few stories above them. Clara had been here once before, led in by Jack before she knew his name. Armed trucks and guards had stood along the railings to watch her go inside. Her first entrance into hell. Now, it was practically abandoned, save for a few armed cars and abandoned weaponry. Though one of the cars had been knocked to its side and was smoking slightly. Storage containers were smashed in, while others were just knocked over, and a few bodies lined the floor.

Jack glanced down at her when he noticed her trembling. "You alright?"

"It's the bodies," she said through clenched teeth.

"Ah. Making you queasy?"

It would have been easy to just lie and say yes, that was the reason why she was shaking. The truth was that being this close to them and having the mask close to her made her want to operate now more than ever. Instead, she clenched her hands back into fists and shook her head.

"I'm fine," she said, and Jack just nodded. Whether or not he knew her true struggle, he didn't say. They walked carefully into the big, open room, taking care to look around as best as they could. This big a room, anything could come out, and their movements were the only sounds that echoed through the chamber. It was like a large, square cave, and they had finally made their way to the exit.

Then the ground started to shake. It was subtle at first, just enough to make Jack and Clara pause mid-step, and then the trembles crested into a violent rumble that nearly knocked each of them off of their feet. Before Clara could ask what was going on, the far wall of the room exploded, and the two were knocked back by the blast, tumbling to the ground. Rocks and cement blocks fell from the hole, and a thick dust and smoke enveloped the room. Sirens started up again, but Clara couldn't hear anything over the ringing in her ears. When she looked up through the dust, her jaw dropped open in horror. A huge beast, the likes of which she'd only seen in blurry pictures, had burst through the hole. Its scaled body and large appearance was far more terrifying than Clara could have ever imagined. It roared, spinning around and knocking out the entire wall with its large tail. Parts of the ceiling fell down onto it, and whether or not they ever made a dent was hard to tell, as any injuries were healed almost instantaneously.

Helicopters shot by overhead, the whirring of the blades kicking up even more dust. Soon, artillery fire ripped into the beast. It screeched, pulling back with one arm and swiping the helicopter out of the sky. It spun rapidly, spiraling out of the air toward them.

Jack grabbed Clara's arm, shouting something that she couldn't make out over the noise, and pulled her to her feet. And then they were running. The helicopter crashed behind them, sending flames and heat to their backs that really got Clara's feet to move, and they were sprinting for their lives. More of the ceiling toppled down as SCP-682 backed up into the building, swatting at helicopters like flies. Jack dragged Clara underneath the lizard, too distracted with his aerial assault to bother looking down. The ruble fell onto the beast, shielding them from the blow, and they kept running as its enormous feet smashed the ground. They slid underneath its tail, separated for a moment, splitting up to dodge the artillery fire that pelted the ground and sprayed dirt and cement in every direction. Just a few more feet to the door.

And then they were out. The sun reflected off of the snow, blinding Clara for a moment, but then Jack was back, guiding her away from the front door and down through a maintenance tunnel. The ringing in Clara's ears was dying down, filling instead with animalistic shrieking and roaring, the sound of grinding metal and the pounding thuds of heavy ammo being drilled into flesh and scales and earth. They paused for just a second to breathe, but then the tunnel's roof began to rumble and crack, spraying dust into their eyes, and they were running again, running as the tunnel began to collapse and spin forth dirt like water. The light at the end of the tunnel beckoned them, taunting them to try and make it before the walls around them fell apart completely.

And they did. One last push, and they were through the tunnel, up the staircase leading to the walls surrounding the facility, full of watchtowers and guardrails. The tops were covered in a fine layer of snow, and armed personnel and Foundation members were scattered about, shooting wildly at SCP-682. It was just enough of a distraction for them to squeeze by. No one looked twice at a fleeing researcher and her guard.

"Get to the emergency bunker!" one personnel shouted over his machine gun, but then his voice was lost in the sound of gunfire.

Clara looked to Jack, her eyes afraid of what may lie inside of it, but Jack was too busy trying to keep them alive to look back at her, running along the top of the wall. Clara stole a glance over her shoulder, saw that horrible, monster screech and thrash toward the wall, knocking men and women off of their feet, dragging them toward the earth and ripping them apart.

Finally, they reached the edge of the wall, where a staircase led down. An armed guard was waving in groups of people, some of which were injured, limping, or bleeding, all into the bunker. Clara and Jack lowered their heads, ducking into the crowd and diving down into the darkness of the bunker. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust, and Clara continued to keep out of sight as much as possible. Jack snagged a large, white coat from the corner, used for snow camouflage, and threw it over her head. She pulled the hood up, keeping her face down. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

They found a small, unoccupied corner of the bunker and sat down. Jack turned to Clara. "Stay here, I'm going to go grab a few supplies. I won't be gone long," he promised, and hurried off, grabbing medical supplies and armor pieces as he went.

Clara looked around, keeping her face downward, but unable to resist taking in their surroundings. The place was full of people, but not nearly as full as it could have been, a grim reminder of how many lives had already been lost. Researchers and guards alike were piled onto cots or corners of the floor. Some were writhing in pain, crying out as all manner of wounds ravaged them. Some were missing limbs, others had odd, extra limbs, likely due to encounters with unkind SCPs. A few were covered head to toe in bandages, mumbling mad ravings that Clara couldn't make out. Some were just silent, staring off into space or with their eyes closed. Those who weren't hurt were rushing around, trying to maintain a sense of order, heal wounds and bandage others.

Clara also made note of the personnel who walked around, still fully equipped with armor and guns, scanning the crowds for any unsavory characters who may have snuck inside. Sometimes, their eyes lingered on her for a moment too long. Sometimes she thought they were talking about her. But then they walked off, and Clara chalked it up to her stressed nerves. She tucked her knees up closer to her stomach and avoided eye contact. She wasn't sure if the Foundation was on the look-out for her, but she didn't want to take that risk.

Jack returned a few moments later, arms full of bandages and medicine. "You need anything?" he asked her and took a seat. Clara shook her head no, and Jack nodded, getting to work on his own wounds. He peeled off his dirty bandages with a hiss, but otherwise, made no other noises of displeasure.

"Let me help," Clara said, finding a bottle of disinfectant.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Doctor instincts kicking in?" His tone was joking, but his eyes were wary.

Clara deadpanned. "Are you complaining?"

Jack laughed. "Nope. Have at it."

She nodded and poured a bit of the disinfectant on a cloth, then went about cleaning his wound. It looked pretty ugly. She hoped it didn't get infected. It was definitely made from the claws of an instance of SCP-049-1. The wound had swollen considerably, but stopped bleeding pretty quickly after she cleaned it. Aside from occasionally wincing, Jack toughed it out pretty well. She never would have guessed he'd had this wound the whole time he had been looking for her, but she supposed adrenaline could do crazy things to people. She bandaged up the wound and smiled. "I think you're fine."

"Is that your personal or professional opinion?" Jack said, putting his hands behind his head.

She swatted at his head playfully, earning her a small laugh. He stretched out on the ground with a small groan. "Damn this ground is hard. I'd kill for a pillow."

"If you're asking to put your head in my lap, you're going to be disappointed."

Jack laughed loudly this time, a short burst of noise that got more than a few heads turned in their direction. His wide grin lingered, and for a moment, the two of them felt like they were able to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Above them, the ground continued to rumble. People were still rushing around, trying to survive. But they finally had a moment, the two of them, to just be still. The stillness was a blessing, to close their eyes, listen to the other breathe, match up their own inhales and exhales, as if they were one person, just to feel a little more joined.

Clara never asked how they would get out of here, if they could stop SCP-682, if this temporary haven would turn to a prison if they tried to escape, and Jack was grateful. He didn't know either, and exhaustion was pulling at him faster than he could fight it. They'd figure it out somehow. For now, he just wanted a few moments of rest, just a few moments to feel safe, with Clara beside him.

She rustled slightly, moving to lay down next to him, and pulled the coat further around her like a blanket. He turned to face her, face her gray eyes. He could stare at them for ages, get lost in their beautiful color, like clouds before the rainbow. Soft. Gentle. The tiny little clouds to his own blue sky within his eyes.

"We're safe for now, right?" Clara whispered.

Jack wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close to him, burying his face in her hair. "Yeah. We're okay for a bit."

And she believed him, wrapped up in his chest, in him, with his arm around her, she believed that nothing could hurt her in his embrace, and Clara drifted off. Jack soon followed her, despite the rumbles and roars and shaking, sometimes close and sometimes far. Despite the occasional pained cries for help from the other people in the room, the two fell asleep.

It didn't last long.

Clara's scream woke Jack, but then arms were grabbing him, wrenching him to his feet. Guards had surrounded them, pulling them apart. Clara was thrashing wildly, kicking and struggling against the two guards who took each of her arms. "Let me go! Let me go! Jack!"

Jack shouted, jerking his head back and slamming it into the head of the person grabbing him. They dropped him, and he moved for his gun, moved to free Clara, but both were dragged away from him as another guard tackled him to the ground. He struggled, tried to roll away, but two more guards appeared at his side, pushing him into the ground. "Get off of me! Get off!" he shouted. "GET OFF!"

"Make sure he's restrained," Hollaway said, stepping forward. "The girl too. Make sure you don't touch her with bare skin."

"Sir, she had a gun on her, along with this," a guard said, holding up her mask through carefully gloved fingers. Clara's eyes widened in horror, and she thrashed and screamed like an animal, like a caged bird, but a sharp blow to her head made her go limp.

"Don't you touch her!" Jack roared, but a hit shut him up as well, his vision swimming as he struggled to stay conscious.

Hollaway glared down at Jack. "Disgusting...to see you stoop this low, Jack. I expected better of you." He knelt down to look down at him. "Is it some sort of mimetic affect? Is she controlling you, Jack? Or are you really so pathetic that you'd abandon your post in our greatest time of need for some monster with a cute face?"

"Go to hell," Jack growled. "Clara has done nothing wrong! She's not a danger to anyone!"

"That's just not true at all," a voice said, moving to step beside Hollaway. He turned to take Clara's mask from the guard who had removed it, glancing at it indifferently in his hands.

Jack scowled up at Dr. Ivar. "You..."

"I assure you, Dr. Hollaway, this girl and this guard are a danger," he said, rubbing his jawline. "I showed you the little footage I could salvage from her old containment cell. They tried to destroy the rest. Some escape plan maybe. With as much damage as they've caused, I wouldn't be surprised if they caused this breach themselves!"

Dr. Hollaway raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't know if I'd go that far, Ivar. I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself." He turned back to Jack. "What happened to Blue and Bear, Jack? Did you kill them too?"

Jack's eyes widened. "What...what do you mean?"

Dr. Hollaway gestured to the guards holding Jack, and they hoisted him up just enough to get his head off of the ground. "I'm asking you why you killed them. Bear's body was found by Dr. Ivar, but when we went back for Blue, she was gone. Did you let your little girlfriend here turn her into an instance of SCP-049-1?"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Jack shouted. "I didn't do anything! It's Ivar that's gone crazy! He locked me in a room with SCP-173! If it wasn't for Blue and Bear, I would have died!"

Hollaway paused. "Blue did mention that you were locked in a room with SCP-173, and helped them contain it. Are you claiming that Dr. Ivar orchestrated you getting trapped with it?"

"Yes," Jack said. "Just play back the tapes, and you'll see-"

"The tapes show you yelling at someone, yes, but there are no cameras in the observation room," Ivar said, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish here by blaming me, Jack, we're only trying to help you." Ivar turned to Hollaway. "I suggest that we restrain him for now, and after we've dealt with Clara, administer heavy amnesics. Perhaps if he's forgotten about her, he might come to his senses."

"Don't you dare!" Jack roared, struggled even more. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. The thought of forgetting her, after everything they'd gone through, put him into a greater panic than he'd felt all day. "Don't you touch her! Clara!"

Clara struggled to raise her head. "J...Jack..."

Dr. Ivar approached Clara, looking down at her. He smiled. "Oh how much trouble you've caused, little bird..."

"Don't let him touch her, please!" Jack begged, turning to Hollaway. "He wants to put the mask back on her! Hollaway, I am begging you, let her go! Do whatever you want with me, but Ivar is a filthy liar and he's going to destroy us all!"

Hollaway sighed. "Begging isn't going to get you anywhere, Jack. I've known Hollaway for years. He wouldn't lie, and he wouldn't do something so careless as put the mask on her right now, in this uncontrolled settings. I don't know what she's done to you, but I'm sure we'll be able to get you back to normal soon."

"He's telling...the truth..."

Hollaway froze, and turned around.

Blue was leaning against the doorway to the bunker, clutching her stomach. Blood covered her arm, and she struggled to breathe, each breathe like it was coming through water, but her eyes were locked onto Hollaway, filled with fire and hate.

"Blue," Hollaway said in surprise, motioning for a few guards to run over and help her stand. She shook them off, limping over to them.

Ivar paled.

"He's telling the truth," Blue said, coughing up more blood. She managed to make it in front of them before falling. "Ivar...shot...Bear..." Her eyes watered, and she let out a choked wail. "He killed him...and erased the tapes..."

"Ridiculous!" Ivar roared, stepping over to her. "Has Clara affected your mind too?"

Blue turned to look at Ivar, and he immediately took a step back. Even with her on the ground, bleeding out, that look terrified him.

"Don't you dare speak to me," she said lowly. "I have proof," she said, turning back to Hollaway. "Ivar destroyed the video footage. But I got a copy of the audio recordings. It's in my bag. We can listen to them right now."

The guards in the room paused, some pointing their guns at Blue, some at Ivar, some at Clara and Jack, but there was a general sense of unease. Even other personnel who had taken to this tunnel for refuge were silent, waiting in the wings tensely, ready to run at any moment if something went wrong. All eyes were turned to Hollaway, waiting for an order, a reaction, _something._

Hollaway turned to Ivar and crossed his arms. "...well? Any excuses for this one, Ivar?"

Ivar swallowed. "C-come now, Hollaway, we've been friends for years, you know I would never..."

Hollaway's silent glare cut him off. They _were_ friends. Once. He remembered, so long ago. And it did feel like so long ago now. Ivar could hardly recognize the man in front of him. But he supposed, perhaps Hollaway felt the same. Maybe somewhere in their strives for excellence, they had transformed into two different people. Maybe they weren't friends anymore. Maybe that had ended long ago, and they had developed into nothing more than close coworkers.

Were things different back then? When each of them would keep each other company, late into the night, trying to cope with what they'd seen, what they had to deal with, did it mean nothing now? Were hours spent over coffee mugs and researches notes, side by side, striving for perfection and promotions, meaningless now? Did it ever mean anything?

It had, once. He knew it had. Once, he was honored to call Hollaway his closest friend, and was proud to see him climb the ranks. But something had changed in each of them. This place that housed monsters of all shape and size had turned them into only vague shells of what they once were. Guarding hell wasn't meant for mere humans after all. This place changed you. Turned you into something you weren't proud of being. Ivar could see that, now, he could see that this person standing before him was no longer his old Hollaway.

Despite everything, that thought really did make him sad.

Ivar cleared his throat and straightened. He turned away from Ivar and stepped to Clara. "...you got me," he whispered. His thumb traced over the mask in his hands one last time. This was it. It was all over.

Ivar turned around to face Hollaway again, raising his hands in the air in surrender with a small smile. "I surrender!"

Jack realized it a moment too late. Ivar's now empty hands, raised in the air above his head.

"NO!" he screamed, his shout shocking his guards just enough to jerk free of their grasp. Jack shoved Ivar out of the way while the madman laughed, falling to the ground and quickly scrambling back to his hands and knees to watch the scene unfold. The mask had sealed back to Clara's face almost instantly. Her eyes opened up, wide, alert, and Jack grabbed onto her shoulders. He tried to pry the mask off of her face, tried to get it off, but it felt like skin now, like bone, no more removable than an arm or eye. The two guards holding her dropped her as if her skin were fire, taking cautious steps back and pointing their guns at her.

"What did you do?!" Hollaway shouted, jerking Ivar off of the ground.

"Enjoy the show, Hollaway," Ivar said, his glasses cracked. "It's going to be one hell of a performance."

"Clara! Clara!" Jack shook her, tried to get her to answer him, but her whole body started shaking. Her mouth opened, catching for breath. He moved again to try to take the mask back off, get it off of her, but a burst of energy sent Jack and the other personnel sailing back into the wall, crashing into a cement pillar. Jack hit the ground with a thud and didn't move.

Something bubbled up out of Clara's chest, a choked noise, and then she was screaming, wailing. The energy rolled out of her in waves, screams echoing through the halls. Their momentary shelter, their bunker to keep them safe, became a prison for everyone inside. People were thrown from one corner of the room to another by invisible forces. Hollaway was knocked back, guns toppling from he and his men's hands. Blue's frame was tossed like a limp doll, thrown against a shelf of supplies.

SCPs, one after the other, heard her cry and raised their heads from all corners of the facility as if to answer her agonized cries. A few covered their ears or their faces, and a few made their way toward her after sensing her pain. Foundation personnel, those who were still conscious, were forced to their knees, covering their ears in pain, trying to think through the noise.

And Clara, oh Clara. Darkness enveloped her, swallowing her and wrapping around her like fingers, draping her in cloaks and hoods, changing her appearance. But it was wrong. Broken. Her cloak was ragged and torn. Black, viscous fluid leaked from her eyes like inky tears. Her pristine white mask was tainted. She looked a lot like the Doctor, but wrong, wrong in all the right ways, like the way her cloak stuck to her skin unevenly, the way its tattered remains pooled around her feet and gloved hands. Strands of it wrapped around the edges of her mask, sealing it against her skin as if to prevent anything from every separating it again.

Ivar laughed, rising to his feet. His hair blew wildly away from his face, and his glasses fell, forgotten, onto the ground. "YES!" he cried. "Incredible...this is nothing like I predicted! None of my hypotheses came close to this! SCP-035 didn't say anything about this, but that's fine, this is just incredible! Better than anything I could have expected! Well done Clara! Well do-" he cut off, as suddenly she was in front of him in the blink of an eye. She wordlessly reached out and grabbed his throat, her movements faster than he could comprehend. He met her eyes between his gags. They were a whirl of colors, a kaleidoscope of every color that came before now, a hurricane of irises and pupils, all combining into one, chaotic stare.

"You are infected," she said, but her voice was a hundred voices, all moving over each other, a thousand tongues, all struggling for dominance, young and old, all screaming for control.

Ivar's mouth opened, either to catch his breath or cry out a defense, but then his jaw went slack. His skin tightened, sinking into his bones. His eyes bulged and his fingers turned to claws, scratching wildly at her now gloved hands, but soon fell limp. His skin paled to a pasty white, every blood vessel emphasized and turning a bright shade of blue. His tongue swelled up in his mouth, choking him as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Clara drained the life from his body, and in her free hand, a ball of his blood pooled. It's red turned to a sickly black, and she shoved it back down his throat, forcing his mouth closed, forcing him to swallow his own tainted blood. Then she dropped him to the floor. His body shook violently, bones cracking all on their own, without her tools or guidance. His elbows bent outward, sticking out, and his body swelled up to a standing position. There were screeches of pain, but then silence, as a new monster stood before Clara, only human in shape. Ivar's hair had fallen away and his skin was the same white alabaster that her mask once was, the same white as the fluorescent lights that were swinging back and forth and spraying sparks. Black blood ran through its veins, and its eyes were solid black and pupil-less.

Clara looked up at her new creation, and then wordlessly turned. "You are cured," she whispered, and turned to walk out of the room. Her footsteps were silent, moving like a shadow, and her new creation lumbered obediently after her.

Jack tried to move, tried to reach out for her, but he only managed to grab her ankle from the ground. He coughed, trying to force himself up, but his body wouldn't move. "Cl...ara..." he spat. "Clara..."

She looked down at him through her mask. Black fluid leaked from the corners of her mouth and eyes that he could see behind the mask, black tears dripping down onto the ground.

"You are not infected," she said, and kicked his hand away.

Moments later, she was gone, and Jack fell unconscious.

* * *

Smoke is what woke him up. The thick smell of smoke and the distant heat of flames. Jack groaned, trying to force himself to at least open his eyes, but they were heavier than he ever thought possible. His body and mind begged him to sleep, but he knew that if he gave in, he might not ever wake up. A second longer, and adrenaline started to kick in instead, full-on fight-or-flight, and Jack rose to a sitting position, immediately wincing. His wound in his shoulder had reopened, and he thought he might have a cracked rib. It was bruised for sure.

"Clara," he said weakly, forcing himself to stand. The smoke was so thick, he could barely see anything. "Clara!" he tried calling out again, but nothing answered him. The room once full of strangers was relatively empty now, only a few bodies remaining in careless heaps. Flames liked at the walls, crawling up toward the ceiling.

"Shit..." he muttered, wobbling a bit unsteadily. Smoke continued to billow up above his head, and he covered his mouth with his hand to keep from choking. He needed to get out of here, fast. Jack stumbled away from the fire and flames, not sure where to go except away from there. The exit to the outside was cut off, leaving only the tunnel that led back into the Foundation, back into the facility. He stumbled out into the hallway, noting numbly the broken pieces of ruble and wall that lined his path. The whole place was a wreck. He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious for, but it was long enough for something to do quite a bit of damage. And he didn't think SCP-682 to was solely responsible for the carnage.

"Where are you, Clara?" he coughed, turning the corner and stepping into something wet and sticky. He looked down and reeled back in horror.

Blood. Pools of it lining the halls. No bodies to be found though. Jack swallowed, and pressed on. He tried following the blood-trails, but they seemed to go on in every direction. Where had she gone?

Jack cursed, banging his fist against the wall. It did little but make his knuckles bleed, and he gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. "Dammit...DAMMIT!" He hit the wall a second time.

What was he supposed to do now?

Was there anything he could do? Or was this whole situation helpless?

No. No, he refused to believe that nothing could be done. There had to be a way to save her, somehow. But every solution he tried to come up with fell flat. He just didn't know what to do. He was a guard, not a researcher, and no amount of reading over her file could give him any clues or insights into how to stop this. He couldn't even get close to her, not with the crazy amount of power she was giving off. But if he didn't stop her, she'd go on a rampage. Who knew what all she was capable of in this state? Either she'd get out and destroy any "infected" that crossed her path, or the Foundation would find a way to kill her in order to stop her, even if that meant dropping a nuke on her.

He wouldn't let it end like this. But he was drawing blanks. Where could he go? What could he do? The crushing weight of helplessness was pressing in around him, threatening to devour him, inching into his mind and begging him to accept the impossibility of the situation and just give up and let her go.

Like hell he would.

He knew where he was going before his feet started moving. His mind was already made up, thinking a thousand rampant possibilities as he crossed the facility. Parts were destroyed, parts were disintegrating as remaining SCP were free once again, free to cause havoc. Freed inadvertently by Clara. He didn't pay them any mind. He walked from one end of the facility to the other. A familiar location. It took him longer than he would have liked, but soon he had arrived.

Jack threw open the door to SCP-049-B's cell. Where Clara's mask once remained. The origin of all of this.

SCP-049 was awake, standing and looking through the glass at Jack. The lavender had long-since wore off. He waited, wordlessly, for Jack to speak. Jack didn't bother with the microphone. He just opened the door to SCP-049's cell directly, and stepped back to allow him to walk through. The Doctor paused, uncertain, but then walked through the open doorway.

Here they were, in the same, empty room, staring at each other. The Doctor stared at Jack, waiting for the question, waiting for Jack to tell him what had gone wrong. Letting him go free after spending so much time and effort to contain him, there could only be one common threat. He also wondered if perhaps Jack just came to try to kill him, which would be a foolish endeavor, but something in the soldier's eyes gave the Doctor pause. No. He hadn't come here just to kill him.

Instead, Jack kept his guns at his side and his eyes locked on the Doctor. He took a deep breath. This was stupid. Jack knew it was stupid. One touch from SCP-049, and Jack was dead. He knew he couldn't trust him. But it was his only chance.

"I need your help."

* * *

 ** _Don't give up_**

 ** _Is it hopeless?_**

 ** _Maybe_**

 ** _But please try anyway_**

 **The Color of the Cure will end in two chapters.**

 **Thank you for all of the kind words and reviews. :) Hearing the love that you've all given to this story and how much you care about my characters really means a lot to me, more than I can describe. I also approve of the nickname given to Clara by Rueneko 11, Miss Feather. That made me smile!**

 **I hope everyone is looking forward to the end as much as I am.**


	16. Chapter 16: Please

To say that SCP-049 was surprised by Jack's proposition was an understatement. He was astounded. It made sense, of course, it was what a logical person would do. Of course he could help, he was, after all, a Doctor. He just never expected Jack, the guard who he'd barely seen much of aside from his meddling with Clara, to act like a logical person. It was unprecedented, and certainly peculiar.

Things must be very bad indeed.

"What happened to Clara?" the Doctor asked. It was the best assumption as to why this odd man would show up and help him.

Jack looked away, glaring at the wall. "Ivar put the mask on her."

The Doctor twitched. "...and?"

"And now she's running rampant."

"And what exactly is your definition of rampant? Perhaps she's just finally come to her senses-" the Doctor started, and Jack scowled.

"Do you really think I would have gone to you if that happened?" Jack said. "No. You _want_ her to be like you, right?"

SCP-049 straightened. What an odd thing to be asked. Did he want Clara to be like him? He supposed that depended on the correct meaning behind the phrase "like him." Of course, he wanted someone of his equal by his side. He wanted someone to share his findings with, someone who could mentally challenge him and push him to find better answers, ask better questions.

Jack continued. "She's not. Something went wrong. She had talked to me before, about how now that her mask is cracked, something really bad would happen if she put it on. Something...something about a thousand other voices without a goal. It's why she wanted to destroy it." Jack put his hands on his head, taking a deep breath in and trying not to show the crack in his voice. "And Ivar did it, and then she, she just..."

Of course. Why didn't he see that? Why didn't he think that would happen? Once the mask was cracked, all of the consciousnesses of before would burst through.

And he almost put it on her himself, he almost...

He stopped himself. No. There was no use falling down the paths of what-ifs. Guilt was something he didn't need to feel.

Right?

It wasn't his fault. The Foundation tore the mask from her. Not him. It wasn't him. He wasn't the one who broke it. He wasn't the one who hurt her, or put it on her again now, after she had formed a new sense of self and semblance.

 _But you're the one who told them to use her tools._

It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. He refused to accept such a thing. He paced across the room, raising a hand to his chin. His back and forth made Jack a little apprehensive, but he didn't move to stop him. This whole situation made Jack more than a little nervous, but this was the best chance he had, right? The Doctor knew quite a bit about Clara. Clearly not as much as he thought he did, but he was Jack's only chance of stopping this. Of bringing her back to him.

"And what comes after this?" SCP-049 asked. "Let's say we rescue Clara from the clutches of her own mind. What then? You expect me to just go back to my cage like a good little animal?" the Doctor asked.

"I honestly don't give a damn what you do," Jack said. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "It's true. I don't care if you escape, if you leave, whatever you want. I just want to save Clara, for us to get out of here, and then for you to leave us the hell alone."

This was partially true. Jack didn't really want SCP-049 to escape and cause even more havoc than before. He didn't trust him for a second, after all. But he DID trust in the Foundation, and he trusted in their abilities to contain SCPs. He knew they'd find SCP-049, even if he managed to escape, and contain him again, because SCP-049 would never stop. Clara and Jack? They could find a bit of normal life somewhere. They could lay low. Stay under the radar. The Doctor, however, would never be able to resist "curing" people or fighting the Pestilence. Jack knew that. It was just in his DNA. Clara was different. He knew she could be different. He knew that after a while, the Foundation could just forget about her, and they could finally be free of this place.

"And why, exactly, do you think I'll help you? How do you know it wasn't always my intention to have Clara go on a...rampage, as you called it," the Doctor said, raising his chin slightly to look at Jack.

Jack paused. He supposed he didn't really know why he thought the Doctor would help. Maybe he imagined he would honor his word since Jack released him? Maybe he'd feel guilty about everything, and try to right his wrongs?

"I guess because I thought you'd understand what it's like, wanting to be a hero," Jack said honestly. "I mean, I may not get your whole 'cure' thing. It's all madness if you ask me. And I still don't like you. At all."

"The feeling is mutual," SCP-049 said.

"But," Jack continued. "But...you're working toward a cure because you think it's the right thing to do, right? Because you think it helps people? Well, Clara needs our help. I thought if anyone could figure out how to help, it'd be you. I don't think you want her in pain."

"...she was in pain?" he asked softly.

Jack looked away. "You didn't hear her screams?"

They were both silent.

"Fine. I suppose I will help you cure Clara. But it is only for her benefit, understand?" the Doctor said, straightening.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Since when have you cared about Clara?"

"I don't," he snapped. "I simply wish to tie up loose ends. If what you say is true, then I suppose I was directly involved in these consequences. Though I refuse to take the blame for such things that your Foundation conducted, I dislike the idea of another Doctor such as myself living in agony. Not to mention, in her state, she could very easily spread the Pestilence as opposed to Cure it. We must act quickly."

"So you know how to help her?"

The Doctor hummed, sifting through his bag. "Not entirely. But as it were..." he held up a syringe. "I still have one, final serum. This was constructed using my and Clara's DNA _without_ the mask. It's possible that injecting her with this will temporarily allow her singular consciousness to emerge, just long enough for us to remove her from her mask." He paused. "I do not know what will happen after that, though. Undergoing such stress...you do understand that she may already be dead?"

Jack swallowed, squeezing his hands into fists.

"She truly means so much to you?" SCP-049 asked. "Interesting. You aim to protect her with such energy as I go about my Cure." He chuckled. "Perhaps you and I are not so different after all."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that, freak. Let's just go get Clara."

"You can keep those Foundation animals off of me?" he asked. "I don't have too many instances of...what did you call them? SCP-049-1's? Yes. I'm afraid I only have a handful of those left roaming these halls, none of them nearby."

"Thought of that already," Jack said, sifting through a locker in the corner of the room. It had a few weapons left. Knives. Guns. He grabbed an automatic for himself. But he had a feeling the Doctor would prefer one weapon in particular. "I've read through your file. We confiscated something from you a while ago, didn't we?" Jack pulled back, holding up an electrical cattle prod. He turned it on to check that it worked, and the end lit up with sparks, a loud cracking noise filling the room.

The Doctor's eyes gleamed.

"It's not exactly the same one we restrained from you, but we keep a few of these things laying around to subdue certain SCPs," Jack explained. "Thought you might like this one." He tossed it to the Doctor, who caught it in his gloved hands. He tested it himself, felt the hum of the metal and electricity course through the tip.

He chuckled. "Oh, this will do _nicely_..."

Jack nodded, opening the door to the cell. He took a deep breath, loaded up his gun, and cocked it. SCP-049 walked to his side, prod already cackling with lightning, twisting it in his fingertips. Jack tried not to feel too unsettled.

"Let's go save Clara."

* * *

The remains of the once impenetrable building trembled when she approached. Rocks and debris floated in the air, gravity itself shying away from her touch, only to crash back to the ground once she was far enough away. She moved seemingly without direction or purpose. Maybe some part of her was trying to find the exit. To find the sun. But the screaming well of voices gave little room for rational thoughts or conscious decisions. She wandered this cement hell of her own volition, doors and walls falling away in front of her. The black fluid leaking from her face pooled at the ground, melting into the cement and cracking it, leaving rusty pipes and dirt in its wake.

So many types of death, and all she could do was wander and wonder what death she would create next.

Behind her, dozens of her own creations walked, somehow more monstrous despite looking more humanoid than any instance of SCP-049-1. If there were any researchers still around to document such an occurrence, perhaps they would deem these new monsters instances of SCP-049-2. But there were no such researchers here. If Clara came across any of them, they didn't last long before the blood was drained from their flesh, pulled from their veins, and forced back inside once it was tainted.

Now, loyal followers trailed after her tattered robes. There were no silent commands this time. No solid thoughts or orders could be given. They only knew to follow her, and destroy anyone who came across their path.

There were a few soldiers. But they weren't prepared for this. If they got close to Clara, they were killed, slaughtered, or turned. If they tried to fire at her from a distance, hold up their weapons, then her monsters would merely tear them in half. They moved quickly, in long strides with long limbs, unlike the other instances of SCP-049-1 that crawled on all fours or lumbered about with vague animal-like motions, these things, these new instances, were human in only appearance. They never made a sound, pitch-black eyes unblinking as they walked across the halls in the time it took to take a breath. Their fingers were claws, and the strength in their muscles meant that just one instance could grab an armed soldier, one swift pull, and his torso and chest were tossed in opposite directions.

Around the corner, Jack and the Doctor heard the screams of men and women who saw her, gunshots, and then silence. The screams were always cut off, sometimes before noise could even escape them, dying in their shredded lungs.

Jack peeked around the corner, seeing some of those monsters stalking the halls. Clara had already moved on, he couldn't see her yet, but he knew she was probably close. He could feel it in the air, a distinct thickness when he breathed in, like an ice-cold humidity. "There's about five of them," he said to SCP-049.

"And Clara?"

"I don't see her. Maybe she'd further ahead," Jack said. "I don't think we're going to be able to sneak around these things."

The Doctor stole a glance himself, looking puzzled. "What...what are those things?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"I have never seen anything like this. These things are...well, I frankly have no idea. I can't tell if they're infected or immune. It looks like some sort of...odd combination of both," he muttered, hands itching toward his bag. Surely they could spare a few moments for him to open his journal, take some notes. But no, he forced his hand closed, though it took quite a bit of restraint.

"Let's hope bullets work," Jack said. He hated being this close to the Doctor. It was unsettling. It was as if part of him knew that the Doctor was...wrong. Not quite of this world. It wasn't that he didn't feel human, it was that he almost seemed to exist differently. It was hard to describe. Jack wasn't a scientist, but he knew basics. He knew that certain elements were attracted to each other naturally, like Hydrogen and Oxygen, and that created water. He knew the Periodic Table. But if their world was built on this table, then the Doctor was built on something else entirely, something that made his atoms pry away. He hoped they could save Clara soon so he could get away from him. It was unsettling. Even his voice sounded differently this close.

"Yes, otherwise our rescue mission may come to a swift end."

"Ready?" Jack asked.

"Well yes, but I'm letting you charge in first, of course."

Jack glared at him, but SCP-049 just shrugged, grinning behind his mask. "I'm the one with the serum, remember?"

Jack resisted the urge to flip him off, and instead checked his gun. It was ready. No more holding back. "Three...two...one!" He spun around the corner, immediately firing a round into the closest monster he could see. It turned to him blankly, the bullets sinking into its flesh and knocking it back a few steps. The wounds bled black fluid, but didn't seem to affect the creature at all. Jack fired again at its head, blowing away a large portion of the right half of the face. It's head simply snapped back into place, and it continued moving toward Jack.

"Shit," Jack said, scrambling back as the creature sprinted to him, claws outstretched. Jack dove out of the way as its talon tore into the wall.

"Don't let the black fluid touch you!" the Doctor shouted, running up and slashing at it with the cattle prod. The electricity coursed through the beast, making it jerk and convulse for a moment.

Jack looked down where a few of the droplets had dropped from the creature onto the ground. The ground sizzled like the fluid were acid, and Jack gulped. "Got it," he said back, aiming his gun at the creature while the Doctor had it paralyzed. This time, he aimed for the legs, hoping to immobilize it if nothing else. That seemed to work, sending the creature to the ground. It never made an agonized cry, but started to crawl toward them despite its mostly destroyed lower half.

Jack didn't have time to finish it off though. The noise had drawn a few others to them, and before he knew it, Jack was backing up.

"Any other helpful tips I should know?" he asked the Doctor, coming up behind him.

"Not any that I know at the moment. I shall let you know if that changes."

"Gee, thanks," Jack mumbled, loading a new round. "You just keep paralyzing them so I can shoot them. Got it?"

"Agreed."

This time when they came, they were more prepared. One ran up from the right, ready to slash out at the Doctor, but he was ready with the electric prod, sinking it into the beast's stomach and pushing the button. While it was cackling with electricity, Jack fired shots at its legs and arms. Another approached from the left, and Jack landed a hard kick on the monster stuck to SCP-049's weapon, freeing it and sending it sailing back into the wall. Weapon now free, the Doctor turned and slashed out at the approaching creature, paralyzing it long enough for Jack to fire. Once they were taken care of, both ran down the hall.

"Not bad freak," Jack shouted as they ran.

The Doctor's brow twitched. "Please refrain from calling me freak."

As the two ran, the Doctor suddenly paused. Jack skidded to a halt. "What, what's your deal? We have to keep going!"

The Doctor, however, turned from their running and walked into the room in front of them. Jack cursed, thought about running on ahead without him, but knew he wouldn't get far. He ran back to the room the Doctor had gone inside of, glancing at the door.

SCP-035.

The Doctor stepped into the room. The comedy mask was there. Mocking him. Already wearing a new victim.

He giggled at the Doctor. "Oh my, you don't seem very happy at all, my dear friend. Is something wrong?"

Jack burst into the room a moment longer. "SCP-049, we don't have time to waste, what the hell are you doing in here?!"

"Ahhh the soldier! I know youuuuu! You're the one Clara likes!"

Jack paused. "Hey, Doc, do you know this thing?"

"Oh, I'm an old friend," SCP-035 said, giggling again. "One of Clara and this dear Doctor's species. Oh, but that was very, very long ago."

He glanced over at the Doctor hesitantly. He still hadn't said a word this whole time. Was he planning something?

 _He's going to betray you. He can't be trusted. You should just kill him and take the serum now._

"Ivar mentioned something about being told what would happen with Clara. Was that you? Did you know that this would happen?" Jack asked, trying to shake away the violent thoughts forming in his head.

"Ohhhh, I'm the one who _told_ him what would happen, even if I told him lies. He was an easy one to manipulate. So eager to learn. So eager to know things. The Foundation made a crucial error assigning him to watch over my cell for a shift. One shift was all I needed to worm into his mind. So many new questions. So many things he wanted. Played on all those little fears of death, of not knowing enough."

 _Take your gun. If you shoot him now, he'll be caught off guard._

Jack's hands twitched to his gun. It felt warm beneath his fingertips. Still hot from just a few moments ago.

"And now Clara's going on a rampage," Jack scowled.

The mask laughed. It was loud. Cruel. Mocking. Laughing because he knew he could, because he knew there was nothing they could do about it, that this whole thing was one big game to him, and they were all just pawns. Jack felt angry. Furious. Red was swimming at his vision, and he felt himself trembling. He needed to punch something. He needed to kill something.

 _Do it. Do it now. All you have to do is pull the trigger._

He was grabbing his gun now, removing it from the holster, the voices pulling at him, whispering to him, but SCP-049 was moving too. The Doctor reached out, pulling a lever located on the side of the room. Instantly, SCP-035's chamber started filling with gas. The man wearing him coughed, doubling over.

"N-no, what are you doing? Stop it! Stop it! I can help you, you want my help to stop her, right? That's why you came to me, just like I knew you would! I can help you, if you," he broke out into more hacks, unable to finish his sentence. "S-Stop...the gas..."

The Doctor watched. Motionlessly. Behind the mask, he was a pure show of rage. He watched the figure wearing SCP-035 clutch at his throat, gag and fall to his knees, struggling and gasping for even a single breath. He fell against the glass. Behind the comedy mask, Jack could see the man's eyes bulge in their sockets, straining as if they may pop out. He could even see the red veins, and the black fluid leaking from them.

"She's broken now..." SCP-035 laughed, black fluid bubbling up out of his mouth like he was rabid. "She's just like me...you'll never fix her..."

The Doctor turned away from the window. "Lower your gun, Jack. We should leave this place."

Jack blinked in surprise. He hadn't realized he'd been pointing it at him. That shock seemed to snap him back to reality for a moment, and he put his handgun back in its holster. He glanced over at SCP-035, whose eyes were still locked on the Doctor.

"...aren't you going to say anything!? Aren't you going to curse me out? Tell me I'm damned to hell, tell me you wish I could die?! How about begging me to help you?! Don't you want to know WHY I did all of this?" he said, voice rising in pitch and growing more and more desperate. "Hey! HEY! I'M TALKING TO YOU, YOU PIECE OF FILTH, GET BACK HERE AND ANSWER ME! SAY SOMETHING! **SAYSOMETHINGSAYSOMETHINGSAYSOMETHINGSAYSOMETHING!** "

He didn't. Instead, he and Jack left the room without another word, leaving the gas trickling into SCP-035's chamber as his howls and roars fell on deaf ears.

They walked a bit further, most of Clara's monsters having followed after her at this point. They were left to follow only the occasional pools of blood or black fluid, and while Jack was irritated that they had lost her, he didn't voice it. Instead, he glanced over at the Doctor. "So. That thing. You knew him?"

"Once. Yes," the Doctor said. "He was one of us."

"Was?"

"There were many of us once. All with the same purpose," the Doctor explained. "He betrayed his purpose. He abandoned his calling, and refused to work toward a Cure."

"So...what?" Jack asked. "What's so wrong with that?"

"You cannot have a thousand voices without a purpose," he said. "Clara is an even worse case scenario, since her mask is broken. There is little to no control. The one you call SCP-035 is at least in tact. He can resist the voices, but as you can tell, it shattered his mental psyche. Clara...well, the mask that Clara is wearing, my former mentor, punished him, and cursed him to kill any who wore his mask after only a few minutes, so as to reduce the amount of voices. But to crave a host is like craving air. We need it."

"So, what, this whole thing is some twisted form of revenge for him? He filled Ivar's head with false thoughts just to get back at her?" Jack asked.

"I cannot claim to understand his reasoning. But perhaps he wanted my mentor to know what it feels like to have no control over your own thoughts."

"Yeah, well...he succeeded," Jack muttered. "You almost put the mask on Clara too. Was he 'worming into your head' as well?"

The Doctor paused, looking away. "...perhaps he was."

They didn't say anything else to each other after that, just continued following the trails and killing off or incapacitating any other instances of SCP-049-2 they came across. Eventually, the trail led to a door and then stopped. The door was hanging open on its hinges as if it'd been forcefully torn off, and a chill could be felt coming in from outside. Beyond the broken door was a staircase.

"Are we sure she came this way?" SCP-049 asked.

Jack looked at the familiar door and bit back a sigh.

"Yeah. She came this way. I think I know where she's headed," he said quietly, and headed toward the door.

The Doctor followed, and together, Jack and SCP-049 made their way to the roof.

* * *

Jack lingered in the doorway. There she was, on the roof. Face tilted up toward the sky. The sun was almost setting now, another day come and gone in this place. Clara just stood, waiting, staring up toward the orange and red painted horizon as if she were waiting for something. As if the colors were speaking to her, voicing thoughts and songs that he could never hope to understand.

If she were here, in this place, did it mean something? Did it mean that the old Clara, his Clara, was still in there somewhere? Did it mean that she came to this roof because she remember when Jack took her here, it felt like so long ago, when it reality, it was only a few nights ago? Or was it just a primal urge to escape, to find a way out, that led her here to the roof? He wasn't sure, but seeing her there, face toward the heavens, made him pause.

There were about forty monsters surrounding her. Milling about, lingering and wobbling in place, mouths open to taste the air, as if they were trying to smell where more innocent people were hiding. A few had somehow leaped from the walls, and were lingering on the grounds below, or stalking the watchtowers, half-torsos and limbs from slaughtered residents in their hands or mouths. Most just surrounded Clara, drawn to her, followers to their goddess of decay.

They were going to have to be quick. There was no way Jack and SCP-049 could sneak their way to Clara, not with so many of those monsters around her, and there was no way they could brute force their way in either. There weren't enough bullets in the whole facility to take care of all of these creatures, and the sound would likely bring more. No. If they were going to do this, they'd have to go fast, Jack keeping them off of SCP-049 long enough for him to get to Clara and inject her. After that, one of them would have to pry the mask off of her face and hope that somehow, doing so would kill off the instances of SCP-049-2 walking around. On top of all of that, they had to hope that Clara would snap out of it once the mask was off. There was no telling what would happen. For all they knew, she could just drop dead.

It wasn't really a plan. It was moreso the only slim possibility they had. It was the only idea they could come up with that might work, and while it didn't seem reasonable in the slightest, it was what they had to try.

"Remember," the Doctor said. "Don't let those things bleed on you. Keeping them off of you is one thing, but if you get too sloppy with your bullets, you're going to spray that stuff in every direction."

"Yeah, I got it," Jack said. "Just get that mask off of Clara, no matter what. I'll get you an opening, and you get her out of here. Hopefully I'll be right behind you."

"You're willing to die for her?" the Doctor asked.

"I mean, I'd prefer not to," Jack said with a chuckle, but it cracked at the end, like it were forced. "But I'd always imagined I'd die a hero or something. Guess it's not the worst way to go."

"You are very odd."

"From you, I'll take that as a compliment," Jack said. "Ready?"

"Ready."

They only had a few seconds after bursting out of the doorway before the instances noticed them. They weren't exactly trying to be subtle. Jack shouted and fired a few shots in the air, drawing their attention toward them. "HEY! OVER HERE!" At first, they didn't seem interested in Jack in the slightest, despite his loud rambles, but firing a few shots at them quickly changed that. Clara barely flinched, only glancing at him for a second before turning back to the sky, in some sort of odd daze.

They all sprinted for Jack, who cursed and ran around the edge of the building, turning sharply at the corner. A few slipped over the edge, tumbling to the ground below for a moment. It didn't take long for them to start climbing their way back up, and soon the edges of the building were lined with more instances than had originally been on the roof to begin with. Jack continued firing at their feet, bodies tripping and falling and piling on top of each other. One came up from behind with a guttural sound, latching onto his back and bit down hard.

Jack screamed as black fluid from the creature's mouth set into his shoulder, and he shook it off of him, crashing into the ground and rolling on top of it. He sat up, the beast pinned underneath his feet and fired at its head, going until nothing but a half-broken jaw remained.

"CLARA!" he shouted.

Still, nothing. Just more creatures flooding around her like water, none daring to touch her or even brush pass her on their way to Jack. But he was making progress. There was a small hole, a small opening for SCP-049 to get through, only a few lingering around Clara now. He took his chance, and the Doctor ran.

The Doctor wasn't used to running. It wasn't really in his nature to feel a sense of urgency. But this was different. He ran to her, serum in one hand and electrical prod in the other. He sunk it into one instance running toward him, then used his body weight to shove it off the roof. Closer to her now. Just a few more feet. He kept his hand on the button, lightning never stopping its cackle across the tip, whipping it back and forth like a sword practically, and very ungracefully. One of the creatures grabbed it in its mouth, bit down hard, and it was jerked from the Doctor's hands. He thought it might be over, as another creature took the opportunity to launch toward him, but Jack was ready, tackling it back away from them and firing wildly. "I don't think so!" he shouted at it.

The Doctor was close now. He reached out with his hand, so close to her, all he had to do was pierce her skin one last time. She hadn't even turned her gaze from the sky, hadn't even acknowledged the chaos around them, and he was so close, he-

She moved her gaze from the sky to his face, and he froze in place. The cloak. The mask. It was his mentor, and it all rushed back at once. His hands were clammy, and he nearly dropped the syringe. She stared at him coldly, eyes full of hatred, and he couldn't force himself to move. His voice died in his throat, and he wanted to flee, wanted to run away, to run from her and those terrifying eyes, but it was too late.

A moment was all she needed.

She reached out faster than he could see, and her hand was around his throat. Her mouth opened and closed like she was trying to form words, trying to speak to him, but mere gargles were all she could form. He felt her grip around his neck tighten, crushing the bones lying within. If he were human, he'd already be dead. But he wasn't, and so he was forced into agony, forced into a pain so tremendous he couldn't even scream out. The pain was forced inside of him with no cry, no plea. All while her eyes were locked onto him, and whether or not he could see her gray eyes in the swarm of colors, he wasn't sure, but he had no doubt that whatever consciousness had seeped forward was undoubtedly his mentor, here to claim her final revenge.

"I'm sorry," he wanted to say. That's all. That's all he wanted to say to her, now, in this moment, but one more flex of her fingers, and his neck snapped. His syringe tumbled to the ground, clattering for a bit at her feet, and the body dissolved away, black cloak turning to dust and feathers and fading to the wind. A moment later, a pristine, gray raven mask clattered to the ground.

"Shit...shit!" Jack said. "Clara! Clara, you have to snap out of it!" he called to her, trying to run to her. One of the monsters grabbed onto his legs, dragging him back, threatening to pull him over the wall to the ground below. He kicked one off, but not before it sank its teeth into his calf. He cried out, screaming as the black fluid melted into his skin, tearing into muscle and flesh.

He thought he might black out. His consciousness waved, the pain overtaking his mind faster than fatigue ever could. His vision blurred, her the only solid thing in his sight, turned away from him. Back to the sky.

Would this be his last memory of her? Some monster? Would he fall back to the ground, ripped apart by these monsters, with the end so close in sight?

Could he live with that? Rather, could he die with that?

No.

So he crawled. He dug his fingers into the ground, gripping at gravel or whatever else he could find, pulling himself toward her inch by inch.

"I'm not...letting it end like this!" he shouted. "You're not a monster, Clara! This isn't you! You're funny, and clumsy, and you get flustered, and you fight, you FIGHT for things you know are right, even when its hard, and I'm not going to let you fade away! I won't let you be one voice in a thousand!" he shouted, forcing himself to his feet. "Do you hear me, Clara?! I'm not done with you yet!" he shouted. His feet gained momentum, kicking off the ground and forcing his body toward her, even as taloned limbs and fingers clawed at him from the walls. He ran passed them, one final burst of strength, grabbed the syringe from the ground, and tackled her. Just touching her hurt like hell. His skin felt like it was on fire, burning and melting away. Everything else happened faster than he could really understand.

Her hand, sharp as a sword, slashing into his chest.

His hand, quick as silver, plunging the needle in.

The effect was instantaneous. She made a choked noise, so many irises and pupils all turning toward the needle sticking out of her arm, the fluid already disappearing into her skin. She made a weak effort to pull it out, but her legs were collapsing out from under her. Gray eyes emerged from the chaos, her mouth open and she gasped, crying out in her voice, Clara's voice.

Jack moved and carefully pried the mask from her face. It came off easily, there were no screams, no ripping flesh, it simply fell away.

The instances of SCP-049-2 dropped like flies, their black eyes rolling into the back of their heads. They went limp, falling back to the ground and out of sight. Clara's cloak and gloves dissolved, turning to dust in Jack's hands, like pools of black sand.

And there she was. His Clara. There she was, blinking weakly up at him. She was awake. She was breathing. She was alive. He took his sleeve, tainted red with his own blood, and wiped away the black fluid still lingering on her cheeks.

"J...Jack?" she whispered, eyes finally coming into focus. "Jack...Jack!" she cried out, seeing the gaping wound in his chest. "O-oh God, oh God, Jack, Jack you're bleeding, you're-"

"Shhhh," he said, moving to cup her cheek in his hand. "You're okay?"

Clara's eyes watered. No. She wasn't. She'd been through hell, but of course she didn't say that, she didn't say anything as tears dripped down her cheeks and fell onto his face. "Oh God...don't, don't move, I'm going to, I'm going to fix this, just hold still," she said, looking around for something, anything to heal him. Her shaky hands opened his pockets looking for even just bandages, but she knew that wasn't enough. She didn't have to be a Doctor to know that it wasn't enough, to know that here, Jack was dying in her arms.

He moved to take her trembling hands. "You're...gonna be okay now, right?"

"Don't talk like that!" she snapped. "Don't talk like you're, like you're not going to be there to see it for yourself!"

Jack laughed, breaking out into a fit of coughs afterward. "Clara. It's alright."

"No it's _not_ Jack," she said through sobs. "You can't die, you, you can't leave me here all by myself, what am I supposed to do without you? You can't die, it's just not fair."

"Hey, I got to be a hero, right?" he said weakly, his hand coming to rest at his chest now that he couldn't hold it up any longer. Clara felt her hand in his grow wet with blood. "Get outta here...go...go back to the beach, alright?"

He wished he could be there with her. On the beach. On the sand. By the water.

"Shut up!" she shouted, shaking her head. "I won't let you die! Please...please Jack, please don't die..."

He wanted to live. He did, but he was afraid that if he admitted that now, to her, he'd start crying too. He was putting on his best brave face, trying to look tough, look like he was at peace for her. He wasn't. He was screaming inside, screaming and cursing and hating whatever cruel god dictated that this was how it had to end. So close to being together, did they really have to part now?

Jack the Hero. The tragic, fucking hero.

He bit back a choked noise, playing it off as a cough.

"You can't...you can't expect me to believe that you're okay with this," Clara said, "You'll be okay, the Foundation will get here soon, they'll take care of you," she said.

He just smiled at her. Smiled through the tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted to say something sweet, something romantic, like how he'd always be with her, but his chest was hurting too much and the whole sky was spinning and he wasn't sure he could speak without coughing up blood or breaking down into a fit of pathetic tears, begging not to die himself.

"This is my fault," she sobbed. "This isn't what I wanted. It should be me there, not you." She was still searching. She couldn't accept that this would be their ending. There was so much they had both gone through, she was still reeling from having so many voices spinning in her head, so much so that she couldn't think about it without getting nauseous, but she refused to accept this. There had to be something. Still looking for something that could help him, somehow, something that could save him, that could-

It was her foot that touched it. Just the smallest of kicks when she was scrambling about. She turned around, slowly picking up the mask.

The Doctor's mask.

A cold, cool surface. Like smooth stone, beneath her fingers. Not a scratch on it.

"You're immune," she whispered. "You're...you're immune...to the Pestilence...you always have been..."

Jack forced his eyes to open, forced himself back, he wanted to hear any word she was saying, wanted his last memories to be of her, like this, not as a monster, not as some freak, but as the her he had come to love. And then he saw the mask in her hands.

His eyes widened. "Clara..."

"I...I could save you..." she said softly.

"Clara, please, Clara-" he said quickly, breaking out into coughs.

She slowly turned her gaze from the mask to his face, to his panicked eyes, like a frightened animal. "I could save you," she repeated.

"Clara, don't you fucking dare," he shouted, body forcing itself upright for a moment in a fury, then collapsing back into weak heaves. "Clara, Clara please, I'm begging you, please don't, don't make me like him, you know it won't work," he said, and the words were a mess now, fumbling out of his lips and falling to the ground, worthless, she was paying them no mind, and he felt the blood trickle from his mouth. "Please Clara, it won't work, don't, don't curse me to be like that!" he shouted at her.

She bit her bottom lip. Every word he spoke felt like a dagger, like a knife twisting in her gut as she looked down at him. She was forcing herself not to break down and cry, even though the tears didn't stop and her whole body shook. His hand grabbed onto hers, tried to push her hand and the mask away from his face.

"I'm not strong enough without you," she said, her voice somewhere between a cry and a laugh. She wasn't sure which scared her more.

"Please," he choked out, his last bit of strength leaving him. "Please don't, please-"

"I'm sorry."

* * *

 **The Color of the Cure will reach its final conclusion next chapter.**

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 **(sorry this chapter was so long!)**


	17. Chapter 17: The End of the Beginning

It was Blue who found him. Finally, it seemed their efforts of containing SCPs was getting somewhere, and after they'd checked the storage rooms, the ruined hallways, the rooms filled with gas or bloodied bodies, they'd checked the roof. There were many bodies here, many instances of the now named SCP-049-2. A figure was collapsed on the ground, a heap of black fabric. Blue, limping, led her squad over to it. "It's SCP-049," she said into the walkie-talkie at her hip. "Yeah, he's unconscious. No sign of Clara, but we'll bring SCP-049 back inside for containment. Roger that, Hollaway."

Days slowly passed. Foundation members from other sites were called in to help with the cleanup. SCPs were contained in temporary housing. A few had escaped, but they'd managed to find most of them relatively easily. Search teams were out finding survivors. Counting the bodies and taking death tolls. MIA numbers skyrocketed. Retrieval teams went out to neighboring towns, containing anything that had gotten farther than it should.

Slowly but surely, things were getting back under control.

Funerals were held. Bodies were buried and memorials were built, but nothing to the public eye. To anyone who knew Foundation members who had died, stories were created. Tragic accident. Gas leak. Explosion. Any explanation that was more believable than the truth. This was the largest breach in Foundation history, so the cover-up was extensive to say the least. Survivors were discharged after intense psychiatric and physical care without question. All remaining D-Class that had survived were terminated. Causes of the breach were still unknown in their entirety, but enough evidence pointed toward certain SCPs that they were kept in even stricter containment. Some were moved off-site. The halls were rebuilt. Cement was poured into cracks and holes. Cleaning crews came and scrubbed the blood from the walls. They worked fast, and some had suggested just building a new facility from the ground up. It wasn't the worst idea, and while the old facility was being repaired and improved upon, that's what they did. Temporary containment for remaining SCPs.

It wasn't easy. Mentally and physically. Blue had buried Bear herself. Given him a funeral. What they found of Tetris was buried too.

Jack was never found. Neither was Clara. Part of Blue hoped they had gotten out, somehow. There were no reports of a rampant figure in an owl mask attacking cities, or hoards of monsters swarming over villages. She wanted to believe they had made it out, but something in the pit of her stomach couldn't force herself to believe it completely. Something telling her that it wasn't the case, something that she couldn't describe.

Nevertheless, her life moved on. She'd been promoted. Level 5's sang her praises for a while as the hero of the breach, along with Hollaway, who'd managed to recontain SCPs and weed out the traitorous Ivar, and the medals she'd been bestowed weighed far too heavily on her shoulders.

* * *

"SCP-049. You need to explain your actions," Hollaway said, this time a thick, glass wall separating him and the Doctor. There were holes in the glass, just big enough for sound to travel through. "Where is Clara?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," SCP-049 stated. "If Clara is not with you, then she must have escaped. I haven't the faintest idea where she could have gone."

"You don't remember anything?" Hollaway pressed.

"No. I remember facing her, I remember trying to inject her with my serum, and then nothing. I'm afraid I won't be much help you to, Dr. Hollaway," SCP-049 said, leaning forward pressing his hands together. The shackles that bound them pressed heavily against his gloved skin. A new accessory he doubted would be removed any time soon.

Hollaway sighed. "This is getting us nowhere..." he stood, haphazardly gathering the files in his hands and walking out of the room before he shouted. He needed answers, and SCP-049 had gone back to his old, cryptic ways. Never directly answering a question, never really telling them anything in a way that made sense. Hollaway closed the door behind him, heading into the observation room with Blue, who had watched the interaction with crossed arms. "I don't have time for this shit. I've got other things to do," Hollaway grumbled.

"Top brass bringing you down?" Blue asked.

"I want answers just as much as they do, but there's too many variables here. Trying to line up what happened from the eyes of a monster won't get us anywhere. The Level 5's may just have to accept that Clara escaped," Hollaway said. He paused, then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. I must be too exhausted for this today." He headed out. "I'll see you later, Blue."

After he left, Blue was left alone in the room, staring through the window at the Doctor. Her hands shook for a moment, and she limped into the room to speak with him. Her limp was ever present now, and the pain in her gut came and went as it pleased. Currently, it was eating her up inside.

She sat down across from him and swallowed. How could she ask the question lingering on her mind? How could she form the words she didn't want to be true? She didn't even know why she was here, in this room with him, when she could be anywhere else. But part of her hoped maybe she could get the answers Hollaway couldn't.

"I do hope your Foundation isn't planning on removing my mask like they did Clara's," he said, startling her. She hadn't expected him to speak without prompt.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, apart from a repeat incident of what happened," the Doctor explained. "I just don't think it would be wise, for my own sake, of course."

"You're not being specific again," Blue snapped.

"And you're not being patient so I can explain," the Doctor responded. "What I'm trying to say is, this body was greatly wounded in that battle. Removing my mask, well, the mask is the only thing keeping this body alive. Removing it would kill me."

"And why exactly _wouldn't_ we want that?" Blue growled, leaning forward and slamming her hands down on the table. "You're part of what caused this whole mess!"

The Doctor chuckled, leaning forward as well. He stared at her, and Blue paused. Something in his gaze was different behind that mask.

"I assure you, you would regret it."

"Well, don't worry," Blue said, rising from the chair. Hollaway was right, this was pointless, she regretted coming in here already. Her heart was beating more wildly than before, and Blue was caught between emotions that felt like fear and sadness all rolled into one, for a reason she couldn't describe. "Level 5 has prohibited all further testing of you or any other instances of SCP-049-1 or SCP-049-2. You're to be contained, and nothing else. No more test subjects. No more cure or Pestilence. You're on your own."

"What a shame," the Doctor mused. "Oh, if I may though...is it true that you all have no idea where Clara has gone?"

Blue paused, nearly out the door. "No. We don't know if she survived, but no body was found. She just...disappeared."

SCP-049 was silent, then. Blue took that as her cue to leave. She shut the door in a hurry, gathering her things and heading out. Her mind was swimming, still trying to comprehend their talk. But there was something else eating at her mind, something else that she couldn't shake.

Weren't SCP-049's eyes green before, not blue?

* * *

Years drifted by like sea foam beneath her feet, changing patterns in the sand. Shifting, twisting, sifting. She'd stopped aging long ago, her body an immortal tomb of regrets and memories of years past. She couldn't ever forget what happened all those years ago. She's not sure she really wanted to. Her memories were a spark of life on cold nights, a flame she kept tucked away in her heart. A reminder that once, she was human. They both were. Angels in purgatory, they had walked empty halls hand in hand, ignoring the monsters tucked away in corners and rooms.

A cabin in the mountains, seated against a clear lake. A small piece of isolation. Out of sight of security cameras and watchtowers. The trees grew taller than buildings, and the clouds brought sweet, cool rain to mingle with tears. She'd let it hit her face, brush the hair from her forehead, feel the cool of it drip down her cheeks and fall to the earth.

Spring. Summer. Fall. Winter. All seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. Stars mixed with satellites as time came, blinked at her, and continued on his journey. A record player sang solemnly from inside the house, calling out to her at the lake. There was still sand here. It wasn't the ocean, but the ocean had dirtied and filled with more filth than she could clean, so she fled to the mountains, away from prying eyes and gaping mouths of people who still stank of infection.

She'd long since stopped caring about the Pestilence. She wasn't sure she ever would, but this world seemed too fragile already for her to care about such things. An ungrateful audience, she decided that they could live with their sickness if they so pleased. It made no difference to her. And without the mask, her mind healed. She no longer craved to cut flesh. To cure.

At night, she watched the stars. Drew out new patterns and forms. Made new shapes to tell her stories. Mapped out their names and tales instead of research notes in her leather bound generals. The old pages had been ripped apart, her notes on the Great Pestilence fueling the fire in her hearth. The mask, or the pieces that remained, no longer called to her as they once did. Their lingering voices turned to soft echoes, then gentle whispers, then finally, nothing. Perhaps the occasional murmur, the occasional song, but they were easy to forget. She hoped whatever souls were trapped inside could find peace now, somehow find solace through her. It was a small dream, but one she still clung too in the dark of night, when those lingering sounds were her only company.

She'd make trips to the city now and then, down the mountain, but the world was changing too quickly for her anymore to keep up or blend in. Clothes that weren't in fashion, mannerisms long extinct. She stopped making her trips to the city and lifetimes passed by without her. Better off. And they didn't come see her either, this place that became too green and too removed for them to taint with their smog and waste. The air was thinner here, too thin for people to linger long, except for her of course. She lingered. After centuries passed by, her lungs grew used to the thin air.

She didn't know what became of the Foundation. They never sought her out. If they tried to find her, they'd only come across a lone woman in the mountains, who faintly resembled the old "Clara" of their notes, and suspicions would die when faced with her gentle smile, kind voice, and they'd leave thinking that she couldn't possibly be the monster from the stories, from that old report years ago of the breach above all others.

There was only one thing that lingered. One thought that resurfaced above all others. One face.

She'd paint him on sunny afternoons, out by the water. She wasn't good at it, painting, but having years go by without electricity, without much else to do, meant she had plenty of time to practice. And his memories of him were as fresh as ever. She could still see those beautiful blue eyes. That smile that told her everything would be alright. The laugh that made her heart feel light and airy. How cruel for her to find love in such a loveless place as that facility. She told herself she was content with her paintings. She told herself that just having his face there, with her, was enough for her to be satisfied. Even when she lay awake, clutching her pillow, calling his name out over and over, just praying that he would appear, she pretended it was enough.

And then, he appeared.

She'd been watering her garden. Fresh strawberries and tomatoes, avocados and apricots, green beans and parsley. Lush vegetation brought new life from the crisp lake water and pure oxygen.

And there he was. She didn't need to turn around to know it was him. His feet crunched up the soft, barely noticeable path. No humans came here anymore. There were no roads to this cabin, only grass and ferns pressed down by animal hooves and paws, walking up from the depths of the forest to reach the lake water for a drink, and they never bothered her, this lady at the lake, for she was such a constant by now that they were used to her, and she never harmed them. To them, she seemed as old as the lake itself.

He stepped up behind her. Looked around at the cabin, the lake, the trees, before turning his gaze back to her hunched over form, delicate fingers carefully brushing over fruits of all kind. And she paused. She knew he was there.

She turned to look at him, and slowly stood.

Her hair had grown longer, the only sign that time had passed around her. Aside from that, she was exactly the same. She looked identical to so long ago.

"Hello," she said softly. "Doctor."

Her voice was sadder than he remembered. Softer. The voice of a young woman, but the tone, the volume of an old woman who was too tired to raise it.

He hadn't changed either. His cloak. His bird-like mask. The wind breezed through them both, tossing the cloak and her hair into its embrace, coupled only with the ever-present bird songs and still singing record from inside.

"Hello Clara," he answered softly.

She bit her bottom lip, a question lingering there. "Are you...here to kill me?"

Kill her? "No," he said. "You are not infected."

"Then...why have you come?" she asked.

"Because I miss you."

She froze, then looked away. "...I'm not your mentor anymore. You shouldn't miss me."

"That's fine," he said, and took a seat by the water. "I'm not your apprentice anymore."

She hesitated a moment, but then took a seat beside him. "...are you still...curing people?"

He didn't answer. She thought that might be best. She'd regretted the question the moment she'd asked it. She didn't really want to know if he was still doing those things. Having the answer might be more painful than remaining ignorant.

"It took me a long time to find you," he said. "I searched quite a while."

"I tried hard to stay hidden," she said. "I didn't want anyone to find me."

"But I did," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Clara rolled her eyes.

"So why'd you come?"

"I told you. Because I miss you."

Those words were like daggers.

"That's not fair," she whispered. "It's not fair for you to say such things."

He was quiet. He knew it was cruel.

"Is it still...is it still him, under that mask?" she asked, trembling for a moment.

"Yes."

"Can you let me see him?"

He reached up, Clara followed his gloved hand to his face, watched him pull back the hood, and calmly lift up the mask. It still touched his forehead, never breaking this hold, never separating the two like her painful separation years ago. Her breath caught in her throat, and tears swelled in her eyes.

Jack looked down at her and smiled.

"It's...it's not really you though," she said, and oh how she wanted it to be, she wanted to believe it was him, that those blue eyes were his and his alone, that his smile was genuine, and not the Doctor's, she wanted to believe it. "I should have just let you go."

"And why didn't you?" he asked. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, feeling the cool mountain air fill his lungs.

Clara was quiet.

"I need to hear you say it, Clara."

She made a choked noise, her hand digging into the earth. So many years of guilt. So many times she'd banged her head against the wall, screamed at her own reflection for her selfishness. She'd broken all her mirrors, and even the lake's reflection brought a fresh sense of shame. She couldn't let Jack die, and so he was cursed to be like her. Even after he'd begged her not to. Even after he'd screamed at her through broken tears and sobs to not put on the mask, that he'd never forgive her if she did, she did it anyway. She did the one thing he begged her not to do because she was too weak to accept living in a world without him.

And then she'd just left. Abandoned him. Too pathetic to face the embodiment of her shame. Her fear, untempered, keeping her from returning to try to free him, to try to remove the mask. So she just ran like a coward.

Now here he was. After all this time.

"Because I love you, Jack," she said, her voice breaking now, and she was crying in front of him, moving to wipe away her tears before they fell. His hands reached out, grabbing hers and pulling them close to him.

His lips were warm. Warmer than she thought they would be for someone who always seems to deal with death. And while it lasted only a moment, it was enough to send her crashing back down, falling deep into her feelings for him again, reminding herself that he had been her rock, her savior. And now, he was somehow both her angel and her devil. Her greatest fear with the face of her greatest love. She felt torn in her feelings, unsure of what to do or how to even respond to him. But in this moment, it didn't feel like the Doctor. It just felt like Jack.

And maybe, she could pretend it was. Maybe she could pretend it really was him, that maybe he'd broken free of the voices, that it had been him this whole time, that it wasn't just another drop of water in the ocean. Maybe she didn't even have to pretend, maybe it was real. Maybe the reason he'd sought her out was because it really was Jack.

"What will you do now?" she asked him.

"...you know I have to keep with my purpose. I must continue to cure the Great Pestilence. I must seek it out and destroy it."

"There is no Great Pestilence!" she said. "It doesn't exist, I've spent so many years up here that I've figured it out, Jack, we're the ones who are infected, not anybody else, we're the infection and we spread from person to person, spreading out our disease simply because we believe that anyone who isn't like us is...is..." Clara trailed off, hanging her head. "It will never end. Never ever. Not until everybody is dead. I'd rather live in a world of infected."

"Perhaps you're right."

She paused.

"I have traveled so many different places. The Foundation fell. Civilizations and governments always do, after a while. Some big disaster or another. Everything around us must always come to an end. The walls rotted. The people decayed. Some disaster went out and did my job for me. I lingered in those walls, lingered and drifted in and out, trying to remember my name, to remember how I even came to be there. So many years passed by like a swift breeze. Time is such a fickle thing. Minutes can stretch on to feel like days, and suddenly, lifetimes can pass by in a blink." He stood back up, looked out over the water. There was barely a ripple.

"So you're saying...this world is cured?" Clara whispered. "There are none left?"

"Not even a mosquito with a drop of infected blood. That is why I came to you," he said. He turned to her, Jack's face, Jack's smile, Jack's blue eyes. "It's time to move on to the next world. And I want you to come with me."

Her heart stuttered. "I don't have my mask anymore," she said. "Nothing but pieces remain. I can't help you. I wouldn't even if I could," Clara said.

"I'm not asking you to help me. I know you can't anymore," he said. "I'm just asking you to trust me." He outstretched his hand for her, and Clara paused. He smiled, his eyes softening. "There's a whole universe out there, Clara. I don't know what the future holds. But I want you to be apart of it with me."

Hearing that from Jack's lips shattered any lingering doubts she had of whether or not it were him. His mind, his thoughts.

There were so many unknowns and impossibilities. Another world, another universe, there was no guarantee that the next one would be any different. For all she knew, they were trapped in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, curing and infecting, arriving and leaving a world after they'd killed off whatever imaginary Pestilence they thought existed. Things could be worse. They could be better. It may end one day, or it may never end. Infinite worlds all stretching out before them. She didn't know how many they'd traveled to before now, or how many still lay before them. Could she live with that? Could she travel the stars with him, leap between the fabrics of space, squeeze between the thin lines dividing one universe from another, just to stay by his side? Would she do that for Jack? Would she do that for the Doctor? Both?

Clara felt a smile spread across her lips.

She took his hand.

* * *

 **The End.**

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 **To everyone who followed me on this journey, to everyone who enjoyed my writing, thank you from the bottom of my heart.**

 **Writing this story was a joy from start to finish, and the smiles brought to my face after every excited review, every new follower, every new favorite, has made me believe in my own writing abilities.**

 **I hope you like the ending. I know it may not be a clear-cut "happy" ending, but I think it's happy all the same, and was always what I intended the ending to be from the very beginning. I wanted to leave the ending up to my readers to interpret.**

 **Is it really Jack? Is it just the Doctor? What will happen to them now? These are all things I wanted my readers to decide on their own. I want each reader to decide their own ending, and decide whether or not they believe it to be "happy" or not.**

 **Again, thank you for every review, every follow, every word you read. I hope this story made you smile, made you happy, made you sit on the edge of your seat wondering what would happen next. I look forward to my next writing adventure.**

 **Thank you for reading The Color of the Cure.**

 **Ending Credits Song (If you want one):**

"Silhouettes" by _Of Monsters and Men_


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